


The Lost Potter and The Philosopher's Stone

by YKWillstone



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-02-09 02:49:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1966113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YKWillstone/pseuds/YKWillstone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter doesn't know why he was left on the Dursley's doorstep ten years ago. While many reasons keep him from his family he thinks only one is the truth. But when stormy seas upset the balance of his life his world is turned upside down and all he knows is thrown into chaos. With new friends and help in surprising places can Harry stop being the 'lost potter?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Midnight Mysteries

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING, FOR THE MOST PART THE CHARACTERS BELONG TO JKROWLING WITH A FEW OF MY OWN CREATIONS ADDED TO THE MIX. I DO NOT OWN THE WORLD THEY ARE IN THEY ARE THE CREATION OF SOMEONE GREATER THAN ME AT WRITING.

The Lost Potter and the Philosophers Stone - Chapter One

"I thought that we'd knocked that rubbish out of you! There is no such thing as magic and you will do better to remember that unless you want to be sent to a freak show!"

Harry Potter was roughly shoved into his bedroom at number four Privet Drive, black hair messy as ever, emerald green eyes seeing luminously into the darkness of the room he had so "kindly" been supplied by his relatives. His face was covered in small, browning bruises that would fade by the time anyone really important saw him. A lightning-bolt scar on his forehead stood out an angry red against the pale white of the unbruised skin on his forehead.

His uncle's yells rebounded off the pealing red walls, they seemed to go on for hours but the yells themselves really only lasted a minute. None of this was the fault of young Mr Potter; the eleven year old boy had only asked his cousin, Dudley Dursley (obese, spoilt, with a personality that an ape would be hard pressed to meet), what the magic word was at the dinner table at least an hour prior.

"You're lucky that me and Petunia were happy to take you in after your parents left you outside on the street, not even them with all their abnormalities couldn't stand to keep you! If we'd had any sense we'd have sent you to an orphanage where you belong!"

Harry couldn't have predicted the outrage that had followed. His aunt had swung the heated frying pan at the back of his head (though he had ducked just in time for the frying pan to go over his head, it had still singed the tip of his head causing it to give out a slight smoky smell even an hour later).Uncle Vernon had started to yell, flushing red and swelling to the alarming size that he always seemed to reach when he was annoyed by anyone ('anyone' in this case was Harry).

"Lord knows we should have sent you to an insane asylem when we first laid eyes on you. The son of two freaks can't be expected to grow up nice and normal live every other child, the child of two unloving parents can't be expected to fit in with everyone who has parents who actually love them! We took you in because you looked so pitiful out there that, out of the kindness of our hearts we took you in! And how do you repay us?"

Idly, Harry noticed that his uncle had started spitting as he ranted. For as long as Harry could remember, the Dursleys had always seemed to dislike him to the fullest extent. His Aunt had been the kindest to him, occasionally shortening the time that he had to spend in his room when he was being punished, she was in fact the one that gave him his room when she realised that the cupboard was getting too small for him. She however, always sneered down her nose at him when in his company, looking at him with a watchful eyes as her husband and her son ripped into Harry at any opportunity. Nobody outside of the family had guessed anything was off, all scars were covered bar the one shaped like a lightning bolt on his forehead which his Aunt complained "made people stare at him".

And then we raise you to the best of our abilities, giving you everything that people at an orphanage can only dream of. We gave you our food, our water, even giving you a room in our house and you still let us down as soon as you can!"

All the bruises that Vernon and Dudley Dursley had inflicted on him were on his chest and were cleverly (though Harry doubted he could say that about any other action that Dusleys had ever done while he was living with them) hidden by his clothing. Once, one of his teachers had suspected something during a swimming lesson that Harry had been excused from "for health reasons" but the Dursleys had somehow stopped all lines of enquiries.

What the teacher had done, however, was stop the hitting that had started off about three years after he had been abandoned on the Dursleys' doorstep when he was one year old. When he was tiny the abuse was smaller than hitting, the Dursleys (out of some well hidden sense of right and wrong) hadn't hit him then, they had settled for not changing his diaper for days, spitting at him if he asked questions and throwing objects at him if he dared to leave a mark on the doors or walls of Number Four.

"Your parents didn't even want you! What does that make…?"

Harry had never known his parents. Vague memories that pushed themselves in a fuzzy state were all the comfort he had on long nights locked in his room but they never had come in sharp focus or with sound. Memories of a red headed woman crying over him with a man with black hair comforting her sometimes came to him when he was asleep along with whispered promises of safety, but most common in his dreams, something that stayed with him even when all the other memories (if that was even what they were) had faded away from his mind, was a flash of green light and a pair of cold, snakelike eyes.

"If I see you outside of this room any time before Christmas, I'll make sure you live to regret it!" Uncle Vernon finished at a deafening roar and he slammed the door behind him as he left. A key turned the lock, and Harry was alone. The first thing he did was to go to the window after he was sure his uncle wasn't going to come back, the streetlamp outside of the house flickered slightly as he looked out over the street and observed one of Mrs Figg's cats as it made its way back to its house.

"I'm not a freak," Harry mumbled under his breath as the cat entered the house across the street. He glanced down at where the cat had been not a moment before, holding onto the curtains, preparing to go to bed. He was just about to head away from the window when he noticed something on the corner of the street. There was a man with half-moon spectacles standing at the end of the street. He had long robes which reached the street, in the dim light Harry couldn't quite tell what the colour was. The stranger had long white hair which was held in by a belt on his waist. Harry's gaze met the gaze of the stranger, even from where he stood on the second floor of the building he could see the look on the man's face, disappointment and shame.

Harry raised a hand, not wanting to be considered rude, the man nodded and continued to stare. How late was it? Harry wasn't sure, he looked at the fixed alarm clock on his bedside table, was it really ten in the evening? The Dursleys would be heading to bed soon. He looked back at the stranger, but he was gone. He looked up and down the street but there was nowhere that the person could have gone to.

Laying down on the sagging bed, which only sagged more when he lay on it, Harry looked at the aged ceiling, contemplating the way that the white paint was flecked here and there from when the effort of holding itself to the wall had become too much for it. Harry closed his emerald green eyes, turned over under the blanket and slipped into an uneasy sleep.

XXXOXXX

The inhabitants of Godric's Hollow hid from the storm inside their houses. Even though it was Halloween, there were no children out, the storm blew so hard that even the bravest child gave up all their ideas of trick or treating and replaced them with thoughts of warm ﬁres and hot chocolates. The wind, the rain and a tall snakelike man were the only occupants of the streets.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, more commonly known as Voldemort, walked down the empty streets, a small, cruel, smile playing on his lips and the thin slants of his eyes searched quickly through each of the houses. Looking for witnesses that couldn't walk free.

Soon enough, he reached the Potter's house. Lucky really, that his spy had been trusted enough to be the secret keeper. Opening the gate to the house Tom's smile faded a little as he looked in through the windows. Sitting on a sofa was a brown headed man holding a red headed boy, this wouldn't have been an issue, if there hadn't been another in the house. An older blonde woman, clearly not Lily Potter, was standing while holding a black haired child in her arms, Harry Potter.

As if alerted by his thoughts the man looked up at him. Tom saw his face and within an instant knew who he was, Anthony Goldstein, brother of one of the ministry's minor managers but one of the top aurors the ministry had ever seen. James Potter's backup in case anything happened while on a case and Hestia Jones' auror partner, he was number ten on the list of people Tom wanted dead.

Anthony turned to the window. Tom watched with enjoyment as his eyes widened and a look of pure shock took up his features. "Mum! Take the boys and run," he handed the red head to the lady and continued, "I'll hold him off." Anthony gave her a quick kiss as Tom approached the house.

Mary Goldstein ran up the stairs, no doubt to a portkey. It was a fruitless effort; Tom had already had his Death Eaters block portkey travel; there was no getting out of the house other than through the front door. The door he was behind.

Tom turned the cold door handle, quietly entering the room. "You're not welcome here," Anthony said. "You can't be here."

"But I am here, pity really that you have to die so quickly. I would have enjoyed torturing you to an inch of your life and then offering you a place on my side. I'd even let you keep your lovely muggleborn mother as a token of good faith. But alas," Tom said, "Those plans cannot happen. You're keeping me from my prey. Move aside and I shall spare you. They are not even your children."

The man looked at Tom, resolute in his decision. Steadfast.

"No."

"Avada Kedavra!" The man fell dead to the ﬂoor, landing harshly on the wooden ﬂoor of the entrance way.

Tom moved up the stairs, not bothering to check on the fallen man. He was dead; there was no point.

From a room across the hall came frantic breaths and scratching ﬁngers. Mary Goldstein had clearly just found the little trap the Death Eaters had set up with the portkey. Looking up at him with tear stained eyes, she placed the boys in one of the two cribs and moved to block them.

"Dying for them won't show that you are a good cousin Mary. In fact, I think Lily would rather you were alive; she can have other yourself can remarry. I know there are people out there who want you to themselves. I myself," he moved closer, "Find you to be... Beautiful. Dying would be such a waste."

If his speech had any effect on her, it was that her wrinkled hands gripped tighter to her wand. She looked him in the eyes and, with a sad expression, replied "What happened to you Tom. When we started Hogwarts together, you might have done things that people see as cruel. But you changed, in third year, third year Tom, you were the best person at changed in you Tom? Why did you become the thing that you hated?"

Tom looked at her. Saw the tears in her eyes "I never will give up on you, Tom. I did love you, back then; we had everything."

Tom spoke "You would have me give up everything I have built to be with a mudblood whore? The same woman who once supported everything that I stand for."

"You know that you once would have," she responded, not ﬂinching at the insult as many others would have "And I know I did, I've changed Tom. You can still change and go back to how things should have been."

He pulled himself away from her eyes "I won't."

"And nor will I ever let you harm these boys. Not while I still breathe."

"That can be arranged." A ﬂash of green light later, and Mary Goldstein fell to the ﬂoor taking with her the last vestiges of Tom's heart. Looking, almost with pity, at the fallen woman, Voldemort slowly made his way to the two boys. Only looking at them when he reached the cot.

Both had black hair, they were very nearly identical except one of them had bright green eyes and the other had brown eyes. It was by these that Voldemort could tell them apart; his death eater had told him which boy the target was as to make the later job easier on all others involved.

Harry Potter had pushed himself in front of his younger brother, hiding him from view, though, as Voldemort looked, Daniel tried to push Harry out of the way. His cold smile returned to his lips; he held his wand out. He took aim at the one that he wanted to hit. As long as they were gone, he had nothing to worry about, nobody could defeat him, not even the old fool Dumbledore.

"Avada Kedavra," he watched as the spell rushed towards the boys as they grappled to protect each other. But just as it hit one of them, the light became too bright for even him to see. He didn't know which boy had been hit. He didn't know what was happening. He couldn't see what had happened.

And then the curse was rebounding. Moving faster and faster towards him with nothing in its pathway towards him. The spell hit the shocked wizard and he watched in horror as his plan turned to dust. He could see his hands falling, feel his body getting heavier and heavier until he couldn't stay standing.

There was a moments silence as the ceiling started to fall, slowly at ﬁrst but falling faster and faster each second. Some fell into the crib where the two toddlers huddled. As the world tumbled and fell around the two toddlers, one unconscious and one still looking out over the chaos caused by a mad man. And then the roof fell in.

The inhabitants of Godric's Hollow slept through the night. None of them knew of the strange and deadly events that had just occurred within the very borders of the village that they lived in. None of them looked out at the stormy night outside and saw anything that was strange or odd, or even out of the ordinary. Certainly, none of them had seen anything that might change the course of history.

But all the same, the events of that Halloween night sent ripples through time, changing events that would have otherwise have been set in stone and would have guaranteed the victory that the light so desperately struggled for.

And just like that, a new future staggered forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's the first chapter :-) hope it was enjoyed by all those who are reading it. Comment below if you're in the mood, flames will be used to toast marshmallows ;-)
> 
> Willstone


	2. Meet the family

The Lost Potter and the Philosopher's Stone II

"Daniel honey, can you come down here please?"

"Yes mum," replied a reluctant voice from up the spiral staircase. The voice was followed by several sluggish footsteps which made the wooden ﬂoor of the house creek and groan under their weight. The boy's mother stood at the bottom of the stairs, a look of deep displeasure written on her face, green eyes glaring at her son.

"What," she said holding up a scraggy pair of trousers "Did you do while in these trousers? Roll in the mud?" Her voice had risen two octaves since the beginning of her sentence making Daniel cower before her, trying to explain why his best jeans had been reduced to a tattered muddy mess while she looked at him with a glare that could melt ice and boil water.

"We were playing in the garden with Helena mum. She was trying to get us to go to bed at ﬁve last night!" He said looking at his mother with disbelief in his eyes. "Ask her yourself. She was all moody, as usual, and had forgotten we aren't seven anymore! Well, not most of us," he added sheepishly, remembering his youngest sister had joined in the fray along with the other two.

"I take it by the 'we' and the 'not most of us', your siblings joined you in your mischief making?" said his mother not unkindly but still very firmly.

"We didn't do anyone any harm, I thought it was rather funny really," said Daniel, he then noticed his mother's raised eyebrow and stopped smiling "But of course it was totally irresponsible for us to be running around the garden,, not helping Helena with the daily chores."

Mrs Potter looked at her son with a stern glare "You're going to have to knuckle down when you get to Hogwarts if you want to do well in school, I know you think that it's a joke but soon you'll be studying to improve your future."

"I still have the summer!" Daniel said with a cheery smile "And Helena always used to say that first years aren't really given all that much for homework, and George Weasley told me that there really wasn't that much you really needed to remember in first year other than how to hold your wand and cast a spell correctly!"

"I thought I told you before, first year is the most important year of Hogwarts, you'll be learning all the basics and the bases for the rest of your schooling Daniel, and remember than I'll be sending you muggle school work as well to make sure that you keep that up!" His mother frowned at him for a minute longer before adding "Daniel, you know how hard it is to ﬁnd you a baby-sitter. And don't say that you don't need one. The main complaints we get are all about you and none of the others, their all well behaved, why you can't just…"

"But Helena's boring, mum!" Daniel stressed "She doesn't joke anymore. She used to be the best! And now Jennifer's being boring I have to make my own fun, Leon and Daisy aren't that interested in doing all the things that I want to go, Daisy's only just starting to learn how to have a decent conversation now…." Daniel stopped his complaints in exasperation "I know I hang out with the Weasleys and Ron and his brothers, but seriously, I'm missing out on company my own age."

His mother gave him an appraising look, "We all miss your brother Daniel, but there's nothing that we can do."

"I know, you've said it before. You've said it before and I believe you. I've never known him, and if what you say is true, I doubt I ever will. But that doesn't mean I give up on him."

Their conversation stopped suddenly when they heard another set of footsteps coming down the stairs. It was Leon, he was walking down the stairs backwards with a look of pure mischief on his face. Daniel watched, slightly amused, as his brother promptly backed into their mother who gave Daniel a look that promised a talk later and then turned to his younger brother who promptly tried to escape.

"I don't think so. And don't mention last night to your father, either of you, the ministry function didn't go well for the aurors. Nothing to worry about really." She said as if she was trying to convince herself and not just her sons. "Go and set the table for tea, Helena saw me earlier and she said that we'd be having a roast tonight

He gave her a peck on the cheek and sped down the hall in the direction of the kitchen "Oh, and Daniel." He turned around. "Don't think you're off the hook about these," she gestured with the jeans. "Your pocket money not mine."

"Mum!" Daniel groaned as his mother laughed and walked off, Leon following closely behind.

Following his nose he quickly found Helena, the seventeen year old Asian girl was holding Daisy and mumbling something that sounded a lot like potion instructions. As she stirred a bowlful of gravy she was muttering "Fluksweed must be picked on a full moon, lacewing ﬂies must be made at home for best results."

Not wanting to disturb the tirade of potion instructions, Daniel sat down at the countertop. Grabbing the book he had started the day before he settled to reading.

Helena had started working for the Potters just after her parents passed away in China or at least that's what Daniel had been told. She was their live in babysitter and nanny except in the term time, when she went to Hogwarts. Daniel had liked her, not in the 'I want to date you,' kind of way, but as the big sister he never had. Though a few years ago she seemed to have lost interest in dealing with the minute squabbles that Daniel and his siblings had most of the time. His parents put this down to her becoming more mature, Daniel himself thought that it was down to her growing 'boring' as (he told his parents on a regular basis), the . Becoming more of a nanny then a friend.

"Heli! Heli!" Shrieked Daisy, Daniel's seven year old sister, as she ran into the room "I can't find my doll!"

Daniel looked up at Helena, noticing that she had just taken her wand out to start cleaning the dishes, he decided to help her. He quickly got off his stool and took his sister's hand "Here we go princess." He escorted her up the staircase to her room and helped her look through the masses of stuffed toys that she had in her room for the particular toy that she was looking for.

It took them a good half an hour to find the doll, and even then it was only when Leon came in holding it to his chest with a bashful look on his face "I thought it would be funny getting everybody looking for it." Daniel gave his brother a glare and was about to chime in with an insult when a voice came from down the stairs.

"Tea time!"

The three Potters raced down the stairs to the dining room where the meal for the evening had already been laid out on the table. Helena walked into the room from the kitchen "Have you washed your hands?" She asked, putting the gravy on the table. Shaking their heads, Daniel and the younger two rushed into the kitchen and did so before going back into the living room.

"I didn't mean to cause all that bother last night by the way," said Leon to Daniel as they sat down in their assigned seats "I just didn't want to go to bed a five."

"I know what you mean Leon, but next time don't ask me to take the blame for something you started," Daniel hissed in response "Mum and Dad are starting to get onto me about all the things 'I've' been getting up to – Dad's just annoyed that 'I'm' not being original enough, water in the wine, hiding things in plain sight, could you be any more unoriginal?"

Leon looked down "If you were a decent brother you'd be telling me off for doing it in the first place."

Daniel leaned in "If I were a decent brother you'd never have half as much fun."

Leon smiled and stole a piece of potato out of the bowl before giving Daisy an innocent look across the table, making her giggle "Where's Jenny?"

"Here," came a bored sounding voice from the kitchen, a black-haired girl, ten years in age, walked in with her hands still dripping from being washed. She dried them on her dress "Mum's on her way."

Sure enough, not a minute after Jenny had sat down, Daniel's mother walked into the room taking the seat at one end of the table, facing the empty seat that was meant to be taken up by Daniel's father "He's working late, he'll be here in a minute," was all his mother said about his father's whereabouts as she cut up the chicken for everyone to eat. Helena sat to the right side of Jenny and to the left of Daisy.

Daniel's father arrived halfway through the meal looking shabbier than his usual, well groomed self. Quickly commenting on how delicious everything smelled he avoided all of the looks that Daniel and Jenny were shooting him. Kissing Daniel's mother on the cheek and sitting down he remarked, "Bloody long day today Lily. Have to go to a stakeout tonight."

Lily Potter looked up at her husband. Not bothering to tell him off for his language choices, she picked up a conversation. "Alright dear. The house elves will be having ﬁts now, you might go and ask them to prepare some snacks. Jennifer, dearie," she said looking at the pre-teen "put your book down love. It's a family meal, not a reading club."

"Sorry mum." Jenny muttered, quickly ﬁnding her bookmark and placing her book down on the table where every so often she would sneak another word in.

"Hogwarts letters should be arriving tomorrow," said Daniel's father looking at Helena and then at Daniel "I ran into Poppy Pomfery in the ministry, she was giving in an investigation into the death of…" He cut off, looking at Helena with a sudden realisation, he went to change the subject but she asked.

"What did the investigation find?"

"Death was due to the allergy, otherwise she was perfectly healthy," Daniel's father received a glare from his wife but continued, "I'm sorry I should have thought."

"What was the investigation?" Asked Daisy, looking from her father to her nanny.

"Nothing dear," said their mother, giving the head of the family a glare from the other side of the table "Nothing at all." Jenny looked over at Daniel inquisitively but he shook his head, he had no idea what they were talking about. The rest of the meal passed in an awkward silence with scattered conversation passing between the younger people at the table.

XXOXX

Harry cowered in the corner of his bedroom covered in black and blue bruises, knees cut open and bleeding. It had been a rough night; at school the day before he had been getting away from his cousins gang when he had jumped to get onto the top of a rubbish bin and had found himself on the top of the building. Harry had had to take a note home to the Dursleys saying that he had been climbing school buildings.

They hadn't taken it very well, Uncle Vernon had screamed at him for a good hour before using the letter opener he had been holding to cut Harry's cheek and, when he tried to defend himself with them. Uncle Vernon had cut his hands. There had been a moment when it looked like Aunt Petunia was going to intervene but she stood and dragged Duddley (who was watching and egging his father on) into the kitchen.

Harry was then thrown into his room, Uncle Vernon had yelled "WE TOLD YOU THAT WE WOULDN'T PUT UP WITH ANY FREAKY BUSINESS WHILE YOU LIVE UNDER MY ROOF!" And with that Uncle Vernon had raised his fist and Harry had gone to his happy place.

As the punches rained down on him he heard a voice, not an adults voice but a child's voice. It whispered to him "Hold on. I can get help. You'll be safe soon." The whispers continued in between the punches.

It was midnight according to the battered alarm clock glinting in his bedside table when his uncle stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind him, angrily locking the door behind him.

Harry cowered into the corner, afraid that his uncle would come back for more, a minute later he heard the girls voice, scared, whispering "Wrong place. Wrong place. Over and over again, and he knew no help was going to come his way that night.

He crawled over to the window and propped himself up on the desk. He looked out onto the quiet streets of Privet Drive. The streets looked so peaceful, god he hated them. The very sight of the perfectly trimmed lawns reminded him of how odd he was.

How in the uniform of society he was a freak and that he had nobody there to catch him when he fell. "Please anybody, get me out of here, I can't stay here. They hate me." Harry whispered in a hoarse voice, a voice not used to being used the voice of a prisoner.

'I don't think I deserve to be here, but if that's the way my family treats me, there's no way anyone else would give a second thought to who I am. To me just being me."

XXOXX

Harry carefully placed a piece of sizzling bacon onto his uncles plate, hands trembling he picked up the next piece and began to move it onto the plate hardly baring to breathe.

He was about to place it on the plate when there was an almighty clattering from the post dropping to the floor which startled him enough to drop the bacon... Right onto his uncles lap.

"BOY!" his uncle screamed, and then clearly thinking about the neighbours he put afterwards, clearly trying to keep his cool "Go get the post."

Harry did so and left his uncle to pry the bacon off his lap and onto the plate, he walked hastily down the corridor and grabbed the post off the floor. Not even stopping to look at what they had he bolted into the kitchen and threw down the post in front of his uncle. He then helped himself to the dry piece of toast that his aunt had prepared for him.

He only looked up when he heard the post drop to the table. "Dudley, Petunia, why don't you go on a little ride out to Newbury today and go to the market there?"

"That's the Basingstoke market dear. And why would we like to do that? We only went shopping yesterday, I don't need anything."

"Dudley, go get ready," Uncle Vernon said, not letting his eyes go away from the seat Harry sat in, it was rather unnerving. As soon as Dudley was out of earshot he gave Aunt Petunia an envelope. Harry caught a glimpse of his name written in green ink on a yellow parchment.

Aunt Petunia took one look at the letter and she nodded "I could use some new honey and they have simply the best range at the market." She hastened out of the room and soon Harry heard the door shut and the car start.

He was on his own.

"You thought we would let you and all your tricks out of our house, wasting our money on a worthless freak like you go to a place to learn how to be a bigger freak?" Uncle Vernon used a soft, menacing voice as he advanced on Harry and pulled his fist up.

Harry looked around the room and caught sight of the corridor on the far side of the room, if he could get through Uncle Vernon's legs then he could get to the doorway and get out of the house. Admittedly he would be in the streets but there would be someone he could go to, his parents if they wanted him (probably no chance of that), he could go to the police (though they would just bring him back to the Dursley's house.

Or he could just live on the streets, that way he would never have to deal with the Dursleys or anybody like them ever again.

But as he thought this, Uncle Vernon seemed to come to the same conclusion as him. "STAY HERE." Uncle Vernon commanded him and Harry stayed on the spot, almost as if he was going to let Uncle Vernon beat him up.

He waited until his Uncle Vernon was almost at the door into the hallway and he jumped. Harry grabbed a chair and swung it over his head and it came crashing down on Uncle Vernon's head, but probably by the constant pressure of being Dudley's chai had made the chair weak and it splintered pathetically over his Uncle's head, faltering his Uncle's steps but not stopping him from locking the door.

His uncle turned and Harry felt his heart sink. His uncle had on his face a look of fury which could only be described as the look of someone who wanted to, and would be able to, kill someone else. And at that moment, the look was directed at Harry, it was time to get out of there.

Uncle Vernon lunged at him and Harry ducked, almost getting to the door but he was pushed back and into the wall. His glasses fell off due to the force and were crunched under one of his uncle's tree trunk feet.

Harry watched as the fuzzy outline of his Uncle raised his fist at him, going for the head.

"Get me out of here!" he silently prayed, and to his astonishment he felt the air around him suck him in like a vacuum. The sight of his uncle vanished from his view and Harry Potter vanished from Number 4 Privet Drive never to return, the vacuum pulling him through seemingly empty space, squeezing him until he could barely breathe.

And then there was darkness and pain without an apparent end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the second chapter, once again hope it was enjoyed by all
> 
> Willstone


	3. Something Old and Someone New

It was midnight, the manor was silent. The manor was always silent at this hour; the house elves down in the kitchen where all asleep in their quarters down the hall from the other servants. The servants were all tucked up in their beds, bar the housekeeper who was up on the night watch "In-case the master needed anything when he went to bed". Even the youngest and most excitable servants, Iris and Irene, who had only started working at the manor at the beginning of the week, were fast asleep and dreaming of something other than the life of servitude that generally came with being a squib or a runaway (which was true of most of the servants at the manor).

If Cillian was honest midnight was his favourite time of the day. Though as a Slytherin his favourite time of day changed dependent on who was asking, midnight was the only time really that the house ever could be silent and there was nobody in his wing of the house that could give him any trouble. Hell he had the entire top of the manor to himself at times like these when everyone else was asleep. At other times the maids and the house elves would be mixed in among the rooms at the top of the house, cleaning all the rooms except five rooms in the attic (but those had been sealed to everyone for so long now they were practically forgotten by the newer servants). Cillian drew himself away from those thoughts, he was an Edmund and they, though there was only him left, didn't show emotions which was something the portrait of his four times great grandfather had drilled into him after his grandfather had died.

He was also told to keep up the wards.

The wards of the house and were pieces of art in their own right – before the 1940's nobody could have seen the manor unless they had the express permission of the manor lord to be on the property for a given amount of time (this had only been changed when "The Sacred 28" written by Cantankerus Nott thought that they had died out and therefore didn't mention them to the outrage of the family). The wards could detect the slightest movement on any part of the manor – the manor lord could tell where everybody was at any given time through the connection that the wards gave him with the paintings, ghosts and the house elves. This had been implemented by the paranoia of a relative in the late 1600's who grew paranoid about the wards of the time not being good enough to protect him if the witch trials succeeded in getting to England.

The piles of books in front of Cillian spread out over the table as if they were an invading army, hell bent on covering as much of the table as they could. The boy himself (though not many called him a boy to his face anymore), sat with his head in his hands, brown hair loosely covering anything that his hands weren't. His hazel eyes were as red and as watery as if he'd just been forced to peel a thousand onions with a blunt knife.

"There's no loophole," he whispered with finality to the empty room. He slid off the chair and sat on the floor, contemplating what he had just read, wondering how two years of research could come to his final conclusion. He started again, voice getting louder "None whatsoever, a thousand years of this family using these books to overcome every last thing that the law could make illegal. Murders have been covered up by this family and one blasted will and my own mother's stubborn will that I get the money means that there is nothing!' He yelled the last part, got up off the floor and started pacing up and down the room. "There have been scams, cons, mysterious disappearances and a whole can of worms that I don't even want to think about, that this family has been getting away with for centuries and yet, when I try to get something good done they turn on me!" Cillian ranted, throwing the book he had read last at one of the great bookcases, hitting it with a satisfying 'clunk'.

There was silence for a moment as his thoughts calmed down from the furious pace they had been going at. A portrait in another section of the library coughed and spluttered in the moment of silence, though Cillian was sure that it was also muttering about the levels of respect for the ancestral home that he had ("None," he thought with some cheer).

After about a minute longer, Cillian reached into his pocket and pulled out his watch. A seventeenth birthday gift from his dearly deceased grandfather that he hadn't thrown away (hadn't here means couldn't – the old man had made sure that if he did there would be dire consequences for both him and his mother), he turned it over, and read the inscription:

"To my heir on his seventeen birthday, the responsibilities that you have now will stay with you forever, as will the choices that you make. Keep up the family honour and you might someday be worthy of the titles that you possess."

As everything else his grandfather had said to him in life, the message held in it that his grandfather, who had been head of the family before him, loved the most; drilling in that Cillian was the family heir and therefore would be trapped in his role for most (if not all) of his life, family honour and (his absolute favourite) insulting Cillian. It was, in short, the only gift Cillian felt that his grandfather actually wanted him to get. The watch itself was golden with the many hands and planets that adorned the watches of most witches and wizards when they got their 'of age' watch, it was light and fit easily into the palm of Cillian's hands. If it hadn't been for the fact that his grandfather had given it to him, Cillian would have said that it was his favourite watch.

Cillian's eyes drifted away from the watch, it was quarter-past midnight, he probably should've been in bed hours ago, as "Lord of the Manor" he was bound with several duties during the day and a seat in the Council of Lords which connected most of the heads of all of the more notable houses of Purebloods in the British Isles (and Ireland).

There was a light brush against the wards. Cillian shivered, he never liked it when something hit the wards; it gave him a chill. He looked over the piles of wizarding law books that he'd been looking at all evening and decided that he might as well give the maids something to do on their rounds the next day. Leaving them out he made his way to the entrance to the library and took out his wand, waved it and watched with the satisfaction all wizards his age felt about doing magic outside of school, as all the candles in the library went out at once. He walked down the corridor, putting out more candles as he past them.

There was another, harder, brush against the wards, nothing that could mean that anyone could be in the house from the outside, but enough for Cillian to wish that the muggles of the village he lived by, wouldn't dare one another to go into the "haunted field" where the manor stood. He reached the staircase that wound through the middle of the house and ran up to the second landing where he went up to one of the older paintings who was still awake "Did you have a good day Aunt Florence?"

"A very good one thank you young sir," said the young lady in the painting, one of the few who actually enjoyed talking to Cillian on a near daily bases, "Better than the one that you've been having, no don't give me that look. You look like someone's gone a burned all of your school books, though why you like school is beyond me, most boys your age…." She trailed off, gave Cillian a pitying look and then changed the subject.

"I've been successful in my attempt to get the two armies on the second floor to stop fighting one another, they gave up their fighting when I told them about the picture of never-ending beer barrels in the third floor. In the room where my brother-in-law liked to set up a gambling room," she added the later part when a flash of confusion flickered across Cillian's face.

"Ah yes, that one," he said, remembering now; half the rooms on the third floor had been put to use in the early eighteen hundreds as a sort of tavern for the upper class, there would be women and dancing, and all the Lords would get very drunk and end up having to pay a sum to stay the night in one of the other rooms in the manor, It had been quite a lucrative business and had generated a lot of money for the family). "Did anything else happen?"

"Well one of the twins were almost scared to death by the ghost of the seventh Lord, apparently he's been talked to by the other ghosts and has promised to be helpful, though why he did it in the first place is quite beyond me!" Cillian yawned into the back of his hand, it was always useful to get an idea of what the ghosts and the paintings of the manor where doing as it explained some of the shifts in the wards that were too minor and far too frequent for him to check out himself, but he wasn't half tired. His Aunt continued "And the headless hunt have agreed to take your forth cousins seven times removed on the hunt this year so you won't have to worry about the two of them during the school year." She looked at Cillian expectantly, waiting to see if he approved of the plans for the ghosts, but he had turned pale. "Are you quite alright?"

Cillian had been about to signal his approval to the painting when he had felt a slight brush on the wards again. But this time, instead of going away, the feeling grew stronger and stronger. Soon Cillian could feel sweat trickle down his face as the wards tried to repel whatever was attacking them, trying to concentrate on the wizard ("Who else but a wizard could get deeply enough into the wards to cause that amount of discomfort?" Cillian thought) that was trying to breach them. Seemingly realising that they had one more chance to get the wizard out before they were breached, they started to drain Cillian's energy and tried to use the magic that connected them to expel the foreign magic.

Cillian let his mind drift as he had been taught by one of the tutors his grandfather had set up in the event of his grandfather's death before Cillian was old enough to understand the wards properly by his tutoring, if it could be called tutoring. Cillian let the wards have all of his magic, all of his being, let them consume him, as he knew fighting them would result in much more terrible actions than if he gave in. The wards stretched around their master's house before they were pulled into the house to their breaking point.

Cillian came to, weak and with a nosebleed, lying on the floor. He barely had the breath to speak or the energy to move his mouth but he had to "Get the servants Florrie….. Someone in the house…. Wards stable now. Get help…. Can't see properly." He mumbled and watched as the young girl (had she really been only nineteen when she died?) ran out of her frame, white dress flying after her like white flames.

Black circled his vision, out of the corner of his eyes he saw movement as one after another of the house-elves appeared next to him. His head tilted backwards, they made their way to his side. One of them had bought along the head housekeeper, still dressed in her everyday dress, clearly having still having been up to make sure he didn't wake up any of the other servants if he needed something in the middle of the night.

Cillian felt her hands on his cheek and neck, checking his temperature, checking his pulse. The blackness around his eye shrunk for a moment and he stretched himself to breaking point "Where?" he muttered under his breathe "Where are they?" He looked around inside the wards for the intruder, where had the wards been the weakest? Which paintings were alarmed about something or other? Which ghosts' icy presence was missing from their normal haunts? There was a moments silence as the wards surrounded their master even tighter, intent on not letting him be harmed until the intruder was judged to be an acceptable distance away from him. Cillian, searched faster, not worrying about what was going on around him with the household staff, who were trying to wake him up.

It took two minutes of frantic searching around the manor for Cillian to locate the intruder, they were in the attic, one of the locked rooms. Cillian cursed, nothing good ever came of something that could go through locked doors, nor anything that could even enter the heavy warding around the manor. He went back into himself and took a gasping breath, the servants around him jumped back (he really should raise their salary).

"I know where they are. Pontus, Glaucus, come with me I'm not sure which room they're in and I might need back up," the two servants (two of the footmen who Cillian hadn't had the heart to get rid of when the need for them they had run out with the death of his grandfather), came to his side and followed him up the staircase, taking them two at a time. He ran up the six flights of stairs, the two men behind him making more noise with their heavy footsteps than he would have likes.

Reaching the locked rooms, Cillian paused for a moment and reached around his neck for the key. He looked at it for a moment, Cillian and Glaucus were right behind him. He raised a hand to his lips and gestured for silence. They nodded, Pontus for a moment glancing nervously at the door, Cillian didn't mind this; if he'd been a muggle in a house like this he'd have left in half the time they had been in his employ.

He slipped the key off his neck, the metal chain (which, unlike the other chains used for keys in the house, was not silver) catching slightly on his chin, almost as if it was reluctant let him back into the attic rooms. Regardless, Cillian turned the key in the lock and, as silently as he could, he opened the door.

The room in front of him was what looked like a children's clubhouse – there were muggle posters on the walls and there were discarded beanbags dotted here and there on the floor. Cillian entered, avoiding neatly an old t-shirt that hadn't found its way back to its rightful owner. The wooden floor creaked slightly as Glaucus stepped in. The three of them froze. Cillian closed his eyes again, searching one more time through the wards. There was only one painting that had deviated from their normal loitering place. In fact, if the wards were correct, she was as far as she had ever gone from her main painting in one of the rooms off the one Cillian found himself in.

He followed her signature through the empty rooms, occasionally stopping to check that she hadn't moved from where he thought that she was. He followed it into the room that she usually resided in. A large frame took up most of the main wall opposite the door; it was draped in black and there was a tear from the right side of the painting to the left. The room was a scene of carnage – fabrics littered the floors around the room in-between the beds which stood out from the colours of the rest of the room – red on one wall, green on the opposite, yellow on the wall behind the portrait and blue on the wall of the door.

Cillian went up the painting and outstreatched his hand, lightly fixing the tear in the fabric and looking up at the empty woodland scene. Pontus moved into the room with him "Is this where?" Cillian didn't answer, making his answer clear from his silence. Pontus moved to his side "I always thought that it would be a darker landscape."

"No," Cillian murmured, "None of us liked the idea of a forma background, and since winter was her favourite season that's the scene her image chooses to live in." Glaucus in the next room let out an exclamation. Eyes widening the lord of the manor ran into the next room, Pontus hot on his heels.

Glaucus was standing in front of a cupboard "There's something in there," he grunted "I heard it moving as soon as I entered the room, a scratching and a crying."

Cillian looked at the cupboard; it was an old, wooden cupboard with a mirror on the front of the door that showed the three men, one with his wand out, one looking scared and another looking at the cupboard as if it were a strange creature from under the sea. Cillian moved closer to the cupboard and moved his wand up and down the crack in the door. There was something in there, "It could be a boggart," Cillian muttered to nobody in particular, "But to be sure - Homenum Revelio."

A bright orange colour came from within the cupboard, Cillian backed up and brought Pontus and Glaucus back with him "Human." Cillian saw the two footmen exchange a glance, they knew as well as he did that any person that could get through the wards without the consent of the head of the family was probably not anybody up to any good.

"They were crying," Glaucus said, "They sounded like they were in pain." Cillian nodded, unsure as to how to go on. There was movement in one of the paintings to the side of the cupboard of an artist's studio which had been long abandoned by its previous inhabitants.

"If you wanted me to tell you who was in there you only have to ask," said the cheerful voice of a white-haired young witch. She had a red bandana in her hair, holding it loosely back off her face. "There's an empty painting in there that I could use."

Cillian could only nod, he looked away from the girl and she left her painting a minute later though only after poking her tongue out at Cillian's back. "I'll see what I can do." There was a moment of silence in which the two footmen readied themselves and Cillian looked at the wardrobe intensely. Another moment passed and then the girl ran back into the painting "Cillian!" she yelled "Peanut code red, if you do not get that boy out of there now I'll, I'll scream and until you do."

She needn't have added her second comment as as soon as he'd heard her first yells in their old code he'd thrown caution to the wind and had opened the cupboard. He was greeted by one of the worst sights he'd ever seen, a boy who looked no older than nine was covered in blood which was slowly seeping out from the open doorway. Cillian picked the boy up in his arms, and handed him to Pontus who raced down out of the room "Get him to a room and get one of the house selves to get a healer!" Cillian's eyes darted around the cupboard taking in the sight of all the blood, Glaucus left the room in a run behind his friend.

"You need to get your mother up here now, she can heal him quicker than any healer I know of."

"She can't come up here now, it's not her hour." Cillian responded quickly.

"Does it really matter that much to you that you wouldn't save a boy's life?" The portrait said exasperated.

"It doesn't matter so much to me, but the wards won't allow her in more than that one hour, and there's nothing I can do about it, you wouldn't understand, you're just a mud-, muggleborn."

"It's Harry Potter," said the portrait giving him another look "I saw the scar."

"But how did he get in?" Cillian insisted, "There's no way he could have got in through the wards!"

"How would I, a 'mudblood' know anything more than the warding expert?" The painting snapped at him "I've seen what you're doing Cil, but get that stick out of your ass and go and help the boy. He needs you now."

Giving one last look at the girl, Cillian ran out of the room and slammed the door behind him, as he left the attic rooms he didn't lock it. The ghost from his past smiled and left the attic for the first time in two years.

"It's time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes - the third chapter is here. Go yell it from the rooftops, sing it in the street, stand on top on milk containers and scream it over the fields of cows...well perhaps that only happens in New Zealand ;-)
> 
> Anything you recognise is not mine, but the character's that you've never heard of before are mine so please comment below to say what you think of them (it would be nice to have some feedback :-))
> 
> As I've just said, feel free to comment below I'm always happy to hear from anybody with anything to say :-)
> 
> Willstone


	4. Reuniting and Revilations

The Lost Potter – Chapter Four

"Daniel!" yelled James Potter up the stairs, "You're Hogwarts letter's arrived!" The reaction he was hoping for was not long in coming; his ten year old son scrambled to the top of the stairs a moment after the words had left his mouth. The boy looked out over the bannister as if to see whether his father was joking about the arrival of the long awaited letter.

James laughed at his son's reaction, but really didn't blame him for thinking it might have been a prank, Daniel ran down the stairs towards the bottom landing, pausing halfway down to leap onto the bannister (which let out a groan under the weight of the ten year old) and slid down it. Just as Daniel hopped off the end of the bannister, all the while giving his father a mischievous look that spelled out trouble, Lily came over to the pair of them, hand outstretched with the heavy letter in it. After she handed the letter to Daniel she turned to James who gave her a disapproving look "If I let you give it to him, he wouldn't get his letter much before September next year, let alone this year!"

James pouted but ruined it with a wink which caused his wife to laugh "The Hogwarts Express leaves on September 1st, doesn't it Daniel?" She said, now addressing their son who was running his eyes down the letter before him, moving onto the next sheet of parchment before answering.

"Yep, the tickets in here I think."

"You'll need to give us the list of all the books that you'll need for the school term – we can't buy everything right if we don't know what we're looking for!"

"I'll give it to you in a minute mum, I just want to read it first and make sure that I know what I'm doing and stuff like that!"

His mother continued on, clearly choosing to forget the exasperated tone of voice her son had used to address her "Helena said that she's going to meet up with some of her friends in Diagon Alley on the 28th, so we can tag along at the same time so that she doesn't have to deny us paying her for something she hasn't done. She's head girl this year, by the way James, I think we should get her something, she's been having a rough year what with…" James looked up at his wife and away from watching Daniel opening his letter. She was peaking at the clock on the wall of the landing she quickly kissed Daniel on the head, muttering to James "I've got a meeting in a minute, I'd better get going."

Giving Daniel another look as she grabbed her jacket and headed to the fireplace they used as the main floo entrance to the property "I'm so proud. Love you!" And just like that she was gone in a blaze of green flames.

"She's a bit busy right now is your mother," James said, noticing a look that Daniel gave his mother as soon as he thought her back was turned "So don't blame her for being a bit all over the place." Glancing around at the room while Daniel went back to the letter, he realised with some shock that he too was going to be late is he didn't get out of the house soon.

Grabbing his coat off the pegs that lined the hallway he saw Helena in the kitchen with Daisy, going over some of the homework that Daisy's muggle primary school had set her (something about fractions – whatever they were), nodding to her over the top of Daisy's head, he went back to the fireplace.

Daniel was reading the booklist that had been folded in the envelope with the letter, looking up as his father ruffled his hair and, after letting out an exclamation, said "Will you be coming with us to Diagon Ally?"

His father smiled at him "Would I miss out on one of my children getting their first wand, I don't think so! I'll take next Wednesday off, that way you'll have a guard with you in case one of your 'fans' becomes a little bit too friendly.

"Dad!" said his son, a hint of colour going into his otherwise pale face.

"Alright, perhaps I just want to see what the new Nimbus 2000 looks like – Tonk's been going on about nothing else for the last week, if she'd not come out of training last year I think she'd have been given the toilets to clean!" James grabbed a handful of floo powder and, still smiling at his son, threw it into the flames yelling "Ministry of Magic!" as the flames reached up to his head he winked at his son one last time.

James spun faster and faster as he travelled through the floo network to the Ministry of Magic, he held his breath throughout the journey – a habit he'd picked up from his father and his sister when he'd first been taught how to use the floo.

Arriving at the ministry, he stepped out of the fireplace in which he'd landed in and let himself be pulled out into the flow of the people entering the ministry from other fireplaces, which were all lined along the wall, carved into stone. "Potter!" someone called out from behind him, he turned and was greeted with the sight of someone he didn't ever want to see again.

"Loras, what a surprise, don't you normally apparate in?" James looked at the man who'd taken his son away and hid the way that his fists clenched in the man's presence by hiding them in his pocket.

"Oh, the department has been taking a lot out of me recently James, too many squibs being born at the moment, it's almost pandemic!" The man laughed at his own joke and James smiled tightly back, happy that the way they were walking – side by side – gave no sight to Mr Loras that James hated him with every fibre of his being "But really, there has been an increase in the number of squibs that, come their fourth birthday check-up, have to be found foster parents in the muggle world who can really understand them better."

There was a content look on the other man's face as he said those words that James wanted to get rid of, so he said "But surely their parents would be the ones who understand them the best, they could understand that their child can't do magic and can raise them in the right way – if muggleborns can be raised with muggles, why can't squibs be raised by wizards?" James could see, out of the corner of his eye that Loras was fixing him with a pitying look.

"Yes… but there are those parents that go on to have other children or already have other children who are wizards, like your good self, and it's hardly fair to the ones without magic to have to grow up in a world that they know they can never be part of." James ground his teeth at that comment.

"Maybe the parents should have been given the opportunity of leaving the wizarding world, leaving England-" But there he was cut off by Loras, who now looked rather flustered at the turn of events.

"I realise I chose the wrong person to be liberal with my views with on this particular subject. You should know by now that this is all for the greater good what my department does. I'd have thought that you of all people would understand that the measures that we take are for the greater good of the wizarding community as a whole rather than just on the occasional exception to the general status that you seem to think that you and your wife would be."

"All I understand, said James, his words full of ice, "Is that my son was taken away from me by someone like you, who thought that it would be best, who thought that we wouldn't have moved heaven and earth for that boy, and still would if we ever saw him."

Clearly not impressed with how the conversation had turned out, the other man waved a ginormous hand in the air "Then we saved you all that bother."

James wanted to hit him then, there would have been a crack and a splatter as the man's nose was broken and blood went onto the floor. There would have been a silence so think in the atrium then, that it could have been cut with a blunt knife. He's have been fired on the spot, no doubt about it, but there was a part of him that said that it would be worth it to see that man on the floor from something that someone else had done to him. Just as he and Lily had been when Harry had been taken away after his first check-up in the wizarding world.

But something held him back, at first he'd thought that it would be enough for his mind to hold back his body as he went in for the punch, however, someone's hands were on his arm. They were pulling him away from Loras, whose eyes gleamed with a victorious smirk.

Other people pushed the two of them as they made their way to somewhere that only the person leading James had any clue about. James himself was too taken up with thoughts of what he'd almost done, and who he'd almost done it for. Tears fell down his face unchecked – he hadn't the energy to force them back anymore. He was pulled through a door into a room that looked like a caretaker's office.

The other person, a man if there was anything to the broad shape of the shoulders that James could make out through the heavy, patched cloak that his rescuer was wearing. There was an awkward silence for a moment as the two men both thought of who should start the conversation first, James took that honour quickly, not letting anything hold him back "Who are you?"

It was a short question, but at it the stranger seemed to tense slightly, as if it were the question they'd rather not answer, James had almost given up an hope of getting an answer when the stranger finally reacted. Two hands, the backs of which were heavily scarred, lifted the hood off the man's face and James saw someone he'd not expected to see for a long time. "Lupin?" he asked, surprised at the identity of his rescuer.

Lupin moved out of the shadows of the room, and into the slight amount of light that came from several candles burning at different points around the room "The last time I checked," he said, with a trace of humour "That was my name, though there is another name that comes before it that you used to use often." James noticed that when Lupin entered the light, his face was more covered in scars than it ever had been before, he looked like he'd been to hell and back. He looked much worse than James had ever seen him. It was that fact, coupled with the hurt look that Remus was giving him, that softened James' heart slightly towards the other man.

"I didn't need your help back there, I could have survived on my own there," James sounded pathetic even to his own ears then "I can do just fine without the help of a traitor like you."

Instead of being insulted by the comment, as James had hoped, Remus just looked at him even more pityingly. "Would you have ended your career there and then if I hadn't stepped in?" he asked, his voice defiant toward his fellow trouble maker "Would it have been worth it in the end to see that man on the floor, spread out below you where scum like him belong? Would it really?

"Funny," said James snidely, coming up with something that was sure to rile up the other man "You're worrying about my career when you don't even have one of your own to speak of, what're you doing at the ministry then… begging?"

He regretted saying it as soon as the words left his mouth, Remus looked slightly hurt at the comment, but continued all the same in the circular path he'd been following all the time they'd been in the room.

"I was here to get my annual check-up with the Ministry, apparently they want all werewolves to become registered so they always know who's done what crime," he continued "and I don't need any money from the Ministry; I've been working in the muggle world for the last year and a half."

"I'm betting nobody in the wizarding world would hire a traitor like you to work for them?" James snapped at the werewolf.

"I'm not a traitor James, I've told you this a thousand times and shall go on saying it until the day that I die – I knew nothing more about what Sirius was doing then you did, nothing. He never came and told me that you were making him the secret keeper in fact he told me that you'd made Peter the secret keeper rather than him."

"Guilt by association."

"Then arrest yourself as well as me."

"You knew him more ….. better than I did."

"Apparently not otherwise I'd have seen his true colours long before he actually showed them," Remus sighed and stopped talking, James followed suit.

"If you're innocent," James said suddenly as if something had just occurred to him "why did you just help me there? After all the things that Lily and I have called you, said about you and told you, why help me keep my job?"

Making eye contact with James for the first time in years, Remus said "Because he's my cub too."

/…\\\

"Oh the weather outside is frightful,

But the fire is so delightful,

And we've really no place to go,

Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it Snow!"

A cheerful voice came from somewhere beyond the darkness that was surrounding Harry completely, he tried to move his feet before opening his eyes – trying to find out how badly his uncle had beaten him that time. But he found he couldn't move his feet, the blanket was tightly wedged between the mattress and the bed he was in so wasn't giving to any movement that he wished that he could make.

He decided to open his eyes to see anything beyond the blackness of the back of his eye. He opened his right eye first and then the left, wincing slightly as a bright light came into sight with each opening of an eye. He winced for a moment when he'd opened both eyes, and then took in the sights around him. Harry was in a room that wasn't much bigger than the bed, or otherwise put – the bed took up most of the room he was in though he couldn't see very much without his glasses. The walls were covered in wood and gave him the idea that he was in a log cabin of some kind. There was a large window on the wall the bed was on and it was there that the white light came from.

Though the curtains of the window were pulled together, there was a slight gap about half way down the window frame, which was where the light had got through. Harry pulled with all his might to get the top half of his body free so he could close the gap but paused for a moment when he saw what was outside the window. Without his glasses he could see little, but what he could see of outside the window was that there were swirling white things that kept on falling just outside of the window – as if someone were flicking paper at the window from outside. He couldn't see much more of the outside, it was all white from what he saw but without the aid of his glasses there was no more to see there.

From the other room (Harry could only assume it came from the other room at least) came a yell "Merlin's undies!" that was accompanied by the sound of falling pots and pans, a sound that Harry, at least, was familiar with. There was a pause for a moment, and then a section of the wall that Harry hadn't been able to see properly without his glasses, opened up. The person who came in at first could only be described as 'white' for that indeed was the only colour that Harry could make out. As the person came closer they put something over his ears, he closed his eyes while they put what felt like his glasses on his head. This theory was confirmed when Harry opened his eyes again and could see clearly the person who had entered the room.

She, for it was a girl that had entered the room and not a boy, had white hair that was tied back off her face in a loose bun, she was wearing the sort of clothes that made Aunt Petunia avoid people; a loose white jumper and a pair of jeans that looked as if they'd seen better days. The girl was pale skinned and had pale brown eyes that stood out from the otherwise paleness of her face and clothes.

"It's good to see you awake, Mr Potter, Harry. Which do you prefer?" The girl asked curiously "I wasn't told that, I was only told what to tell you and where to put you. But not what name you prefer."

"H...H….Harry," Harry stammered, not quite sure that he'd said the right thing to answer her question "Just Harry." She smiled at him briefly and then ruffled his hair for no apparent reason.

"You're a Potter though, aren't you?"

"Yes Miss," Harry said feeling rather out of place with the girl, who while still a girl seemed to him to be quite a bit older than him.

"Yes Miss," she mocked lightly before introducing herself "It's Clarissa, Clare unless you're my father and his girlfriend." She nodded her head and laughed "Sorry, I'm acting slightly odd, I've not had company here for a while now. Not many people come this way anymore."

"This way?" Harry asked, curious "Where am I?"

"You are… The best explanation that I can give you is that you're sort of, not really, but sort of, in a dream," she hurried to explain "Not the normal type of dream that you'd get if you were asleep in your own bed with nothing to worry about and no destiny on your shoulders. This dreams a bridging dream. It connects where I am and where you are so I can tell you things that you need to know for when you need them."

Harry's forehead crumpled as he thought about what the girl was saying, destiny, dreams that could bridge places next to one another, it all sounded impossible. "I'm sorry Miss, you must be mistaken, I don't have a destiny that could be that great, I'm going to Stonewall High next term, does that sound like the type of place that you'd find people with a great destiny?"

Clare laughed, surprising Harry with her reaction "Stonewall High? Really? That's the best place that they could send you?"

Glaring at the girl, Harry said "It's the best place for someone like me." He said it with the upmost conviction, the Dursleys had paid good money towards getting him in there, they'd not left him at an orphanage and they'd not kept him locked up in his room for the rest of his life, at least that wasn't the plan they had for him. 'Therefore', Harry thought, 'it's the best place for me'.

"What, just because you turned your teachers wig blue and set a boa constrictor on your cousin?"

"How did you know about that?" Harry asked, panicked, the Dursleys had told him about what happened to naughty boys like him if they were found to be naughty – they were taken off and never seen again. Was that where he was? Had the girl taken him from his bed because she knew about all the things he'd done wrong?

"You're a wizard Harry," said Clare sadly, "You're not anything bad or evil, and nothing could be further from the truth. You, Harry Potter, are so good that people will remember you for being the most good out of all the good people in the world. But enough about the future I'll really get into trouble for telling you about."

Harry stared at her in shock "That's impossible!" Clare glanced at him.

"What's impossible?"

"I can't be a…A wizard, there's no such thing!" Harry was sure of it now, the girl was insane, beyond help, it was clear to him now.

"So you didn't turn your teacher's wig blue, you didn't once grow your hair back overnight and once again I stress, you didn't trap your cousin in a snake tank?" Harry didn't know what to say other than "Oh, right."

"If it helps much, you won't be going back to the Dursley's any time soon, you've been moved, with kind regards to somewhere else. I was told to tell you that he's not as much of a pain as he first appears." She looked at her wrist and Harry caught sight of a silver watch adorning it. "We're almost out of time," she said regretfully "I was enjoying our conversation, even if you won't remember all of it I think it's stabilised you for a wee while."

Clare suddenly pushed him back onto the pillow of the bed "Alright Harry here's the thing, you're not going to remember most of this conversation, mainly it's just the first contact or so I'm told. We will be seeing each other again, but not for a wee while." She smiled as the light got somehow brighter in Harry's eyes.

"You're going back," she said cheerfully.

"Where?" Harry asked as the light threatened to overpower him.

The light overwhelmed him and suddenly there was pain, utter and complete, but before he blacked out from it, at the very last moment he heard one last word.

"Reality."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello :-)
> 
> Hope everything is going well with all the people reading the story and that you're not all getting to bored ;-)
> 
> Fell free to comment your thoughts below :-) Thanks to everybody whose read the story so far, given kudos, bookmarked or commented (and if you've done a combination of the above, you're just awesome).
> 
> Willstone


	5. Waking Up

"And what does that tell you?" asked the man as he lent over the gently simmering potion which had just turned a delightful shade of purple.

"It tells us that the potion's ready to be taken off the boil," said the young boy, standing with his head just poking out over the top of the table next to his father "It tells us that we've done a good job on it so far."

The man smiled at his son, his hand reached the top of the boy's head, ruffling the hair slightly "It means we've not paid any attention to the book," he extinguished the fire and knelt down to his son's level, grinning "which is probably the best thing to do since the book was written by your grandfather."

Both father and son laughed at that, their shared dislike of the head of the household showing clearly on their faces, the boy hugged his father who let out a soft 'humph' at the point of contact but contradicted the sound with a wide grin. After cutting off the embrace the two started cleaning up the potions lab – the boy grabbing the book of the desk, the father taking away the extra ingredients that hadn't been used in the making of the potion.

After packing away everything that needed to be packed the man turned to his son "This potion should only be used at the most important time Cillian, nothing is more important than you not using this potion unless not to do so would result in someone's death. Do you understand?"

Cillian nodded up at his father who filled a vial of the potion, and banished the rest. He'd apparently nodded with a bit too much rigor as his father only laughed at the sight. Cillian's father moved over to the wall of the room and opened up a secret compartment in the wall which was half filled with whiskey bottles. Carefully placing the vial behind the alcohol, the wizard winked at his son "For our eyes only aye?"

There was a knock at the door, three sharp taps on the wooden door, Cillian hid behind his father, who hurriedly closed the compartment and took two steps towards the other side of the room, before yelling "Come in!"

The devil walked into the room, figuratively of cause but then when it came down to the current lord of the manor, anything could have been possible in that regard. At eighty years old the man stood upright and stiff, his mean little eyes glared out at the father-son pair, searching them for anything that could indicate rebellious thoughts. "Go to the backroom Cillian," said his father at the prompt of the manor lord "Your grandfather and I have to have a little chat."

"Kay Da," was the response, it made his grandfather wince to hear the shortened words, which gave Cillian's cause to smile.

Going into the back room, Cillian grabbed a book from its place on a counter top before running over to the comfortable chair that stood in front of the fireplace. Unlike the rest of the house, which was decorated according to the "traditional" style of the previous owners of the manor. The closet-like room off the potions lab however, was full to the brim with the chaotic order his father liked the most – papers littered the floor and most of the available surfaces. The walls were smothered in bookshelves which bowed heavily in the middle from the weight of all the heavy tombs that they held.

As Cillian settled into the chair he heard his father's voice coming through the wall "He's just a boy! What you do want to do with him? The war ended last month, he can have a childhood away from your lord master or whatever the hell you called him!"

The fire in the grate crackled gently as Cillian lent forwards and added another log to the fire, starting to read, he tried to block out the noise coming from the other room but this was proved difficult as they got louder and louder till they were loud enough to break off even the most stable of his trains of thoughts "No! You can't do that! I won't allow it! You'd make him like you, cold and heartless with no cares in the world but his family pride!"

His father's voice grew in pitch as he got angrier and angrier at whatever the old man was suggesting. Curious, Cillian went over to the door between the two rooms and put his ear to the ancient wood, when he couldn't hear anything he opened the door slightly and peaked into the room. His grandfather had his back to him while his father was facing the door the boy stood in. His father's face was red with rage, and what looked suspiciously like tears seemed to be running down his cheek.

The shadow that Cillian's grandfather cast over the floor was large and looming, stretching out and over the entire floor, covering it in his dark ways and words, as it the shadow was a carpet of darkness laid out especially for Cillian to tread on.

Neither of the men noticed the open door nor the boy that was listening to the conversation eagerly, so neither of them paused their argument to shield the boy from the nature of their argument. "I will not," his grandfather was saying "Have my grandson polluted by your ideas anymore. He will be a Lord one day and as a lord he will not, I repeat, not, be sympathetic with your kind. The kind of people you associate and converse with is a shame to any good house. You've done enough harm as it is."

"Oh, I see," Cillian's father was madder than Cillian could ever remember him being "I suppose it's bad that I associate with my family, the ones who raised me since birth? My muggle family, is that it?"

"It's unseemly," the other man spat "I want you out of this house by this evening. No goodbye to the boy, you'll just corrupt him more with all of your ideals."

"What if I refuse to go?" At that comment Cillian's grandfather leaned into his father's ear and whispered something that Cillian couldn't hear, but whatever the old man had said it had the desired effect on his father. The colour drained out of the man's face and he nodded, shocked into silence. "I'll be gone before tea, you and yours won't see hide nor hair of me after that."

Cillian almost slammed the door to the study loudly behind him as he tried to deny what he'd just seen and heard, it was only from fear of being caught that he didn't slam the door and scream at the people in the room to start making sense or to scream at his father not to leave him and his mother alone with his grandfather. Reaching his abandoned book, Cillian grabbed it and started to read it at a feverish pace, not stopping for anything, trying to drown out the knowledge that had been thrust upon him by the events of the last few minutes.

His mother woke him the next morning, her eyes were red and bloated from crying, and there was a bruise to her right cheek that looked an awful lot as if it were the size of his grandfather's fist. She fetched him out of the study, taking the book off him and placing it on the coffee table by the side of the chair. She led him through the potions lab for the last time and he looked around, somehow knowing that things would never quite be the same again.

He took in the site of the cauldron's lined up down the side of the hall, he looked in as many of the glass jars that were underneath the tables as he could manage, in his head he created a copy of the room, for his eyes only. Cillian's mother locked the door behind them both, the last glimpse of the room that Cillian had seen, was the section of the wall that his father had hidden all of the things he hadn't wanted Cillian's mother to know about. He wondered, briefly, if his father had left that purple vial in there, whether it would glow within the permanently dark hole in the wall forever, or if his father had taken it to the place he'd gone.

Either way, it had been many years since those questions had been asked, and yet still they had no answer.

XXXX-XXXX

Groggily, Cillian opened his eyes. It had taken him half the night to get the Potter boy stable. Even with the help of one of the best healers in the country, it had been touch and go many a time throughout the night. Cillian had collapsed onto his bed at 8 o'clock in the morning, physically, mentally and magically exhausted, but well aware that there was nothing more that they could do in the time he had, for the stranger that had quite literally crashed into his house.

The boy had several broken ribs, numerous old bruises to his front and back which had been accompanied by a varied selection of open wounds; some fresh and some of them infected. There had been a bash to his head that had caused bleeding and a suspected concussion that could still have unsavoury results. The boy had, in other words, been steadily heading towards a meeting with a maker when he's detoured to the attic cupboard.

After collapsing into his bed, still fully clothed, Cillian had slept for just over 24 hours (based on the copy of the Daily Profit that someone had left by the side of his bed). He pondered this for a minute as he stretched out his muscles, waking them up after their long rest, Cillian came to the conclusion that the wards, also drained by the arrival of the guest, had needed to recharge as well and had used his magical core to supplement itself and defend the manor against any further attacks.

It was a fine morning that greeted Cillian when he pulled back the curtain from around his bed - the sun was shining in through the windows and onto his bed, a feat worthy of calibration considering the wet weather they'd been having for the majority of the summer. All across the field outside the manor, which Cillian's bedroom looked out onto, garden eras were busy tidying up the remains of various trees that had been blown down by heavy wind over the last few weeks of bad weather. Still more gardeners could be seen out in the distance, pruning the hedges of the maze that ran along one side of the property.

Dressing quickly in somewhat formal clothing, the seventeen-year-old summoned a pair of blue slippers and made his way down to the breakfast room where the meal was already laid out ready to be eaten off large silver platters that sparkled in the morning light coming in through the great windows that spanned the wall top, bottom and one both sides. Pontus was standing in the far corner of the room, looking rather worse for wear, his face was paler than usual and had a faint green tint to it that looked far from healthy.

After giving the footman both a morning greeting and a concerned look Cillian said "How's our guest doing?"

"Fine milord," said Pontus, offering the tea pot to Cillian's cup in a questioning gesture to which Cillian nodded "He should wake up in the next hour of so according to the healer."

"And how're the other staff members dealing with the excitement of the other night?" Asked Cillian as he tucked into some toast.

"The others are fine milord, never better some say." Pontus' response was slightly stiff and Cillian wondered what he'd done to deserve the cold shoulder. Then he realised.

"You and Pontus were next on my list of people to ask after, saving the best till last, that sort of thing," Cillian joked lightly, drawing a slight curl upwards of the lips from his old friend. "When our guest does walk up, make sure that if I'm not there that he can't wander off too far from his room - there are a few things I want to ask him before I let him waltz off into the sunset."

There was a moment of silence, both men unsure how to continue, normally Cillian had other things that he would be dealing with at the breakfast table that would take his mind off the fact that there was someone else in the room watching him eat. Pontus wasn't allowed to talk to his friend without said friend giving permission, though if both were honest they wished that that rule didn't exist and ignored it about half of the time, but never in such a formal setting.

They were saved when Pontus' stomach let out a large grumble "Did you eat this morning?" Cillian asked slyly, "Only I think Mrs Stevens has given me far too much to eat all on my own. And if my guest isn't up..."

"I ate this morning with the other servants," replied Pontus, though his eyes swept the table longingly at all the food laid out on it. Another minute passes in the same awkward silence before Pontus' stomach grumbled again and he sat down, not looking his employer, who was smirking a self-satisfied smile. He picked up a boiled egg, and started to awkwardly peel off the shell.

"That wasn't hard now was it?" Cillian joked, licking his fingers clean of small pieces of jam and toast.

"Shut up Cil-" Pontus realised what he'd been about to say and stood up, suddenly ashamed, dropping the now undressed egg on the floor.

"You've known me since I was about seven years old Pontus, I think there can be some familiarity between the two of us even if you don't think there should be." Pontus nodded his head slightly, though it was largely still angled towards the floor.

"You say you ate with the other servants this morning?" Asked Cillian, suddenly considering something "How much did you need to eat this morning for you to feel even slightly full?"

Pontus looked slightly ashamed at that comment "Well," he said "I ate a few boiled eggs and a few pieces of toast, nothing over the top but sir I'm ashamed to say that I didn't just have my fair share of the food this morning or for the last two days sir."

"You came to the house because you're a squib, is that correct?" Cillian asked the other man "You were taken away from your parents at your fourth birthday or your first magical check-up and then trained?"

"Here's my first family to look after sir," Pontus said, looking mildly proud "But yes I am a squib, not a drop of magic in me."

"Even squibs have magic Pontus," muttered Cillian, "Every squib has a tiny amount of magic, that's what makes the Potter case so interesting to read about - the boy had no magical signature altogether - but that's beside the point."

"Squibs are separated from their families because their magic is volatile, and any type of fore from someone with a similar magical core to them - such as a mother or a father, uncle aunt or sibling, can set off their magic be accident. And a squibs magic when released in the wrong way, can be deadly to their people around them. So the squib law was invented. One of the signs I read in a book, was that a squib unlocking their powers experienced intense hunger as their core assembled itself."

Cillian stopped talking, giving his footman a moment to catch up with what he'd just been told "So, I'm a wizard?" asked Pontus finally, not sounding overly pleased with the turn of events.

"A weak one yes, but a wizard all the same, you don't have to announce it to the rest of the staff- I know that half the bond you all share is that you're all squibs or runaways, but you might tell Glaucus and it might mean that you can find your family and not be blocked by the ministry for being a squib."

"But Sir!" exclaimed Pontus, sitting down once again on the dining room chair "What if I don't want to be a wizard? Everything I've seen of the wizarding world and the people in it, no offence meant to you sir, is that they're all insane with power or something like that! If I stopped eating would it all go away? Would I still be a squib?"

"If you stopped getting the energy from the food you'd be eating Pontus, you'd die in your sleep one night, or collapse in the corridor unexpectedly from exhaustion. Your magical core would kill you and there's nothing that can stop it other than doing what comes naturally." Cillian stopped talking and took a sip of lukewarm tea, "Now eat, or I'll stuff it down your throat for you."

The two men ate in silence after that, both surprising themselves with the amount of food they found that they could eat in one sitting. An hour after Cillian had entered the dining room, Pontus stood and started cleaning up the dishes from the table.

"If you don't mind me asking sir," he asked, as he took Cillian's plate off him and put it on a steadily growing pile of dishes to be taken down to the kitchens "What triggered my core? Why would it start now – I've been in service for the last fourteen years and nothing ever happened then, what started things up now?"

"I imagine it might have been the unexpected guest we received, you never can trust the magical core of untrained wizards and witches – magic goes everywhere, and handing him to you when he first came through might just have done the trick," Cillian got up from the table and helped Pontus get all of the plates into his arms "if I only knew how the famous Harry Potter, brother of the boy-who-lived, the anti-magic, could end up in my manor, magic blowing off him like fireworks. I'd be much happier."

They were about to separate – Pontus about to disappear into the passageways behind an empty painting of the gardens of the manor, and Cillian out through the main doors of the hall, when a house elf appeared. Cillian knew in an instant that it was not one of his house elves – all of his never looked him in the eyes or ever looked as excited as the young house elf did when he appeared (something to do with his grandfather's dislike of house elves that talked back).

"Yes?" asked Cillian, Slytherin mask firmly back in place "What is it?"

"Its master Potter sir, the boy sir," squeaked the house elf in the high pitched voice that somehow all house elves seemed to possess.

"What about him? And whose elf are you? I know you're not one of mine."

"I'm Misty sir, Matron's house elf," the elf looked to Cillian as is looking for encouragement.

"Well?"

"Mistress says that the boy should be waking up soon, and if sir wanted to be there he might want to head up there himself."

By the time the emerald green eyes of one Harry Potter opened not a minute later, Cillian was halfway up the stairs, running as if his life depended on it to meet his unexpected guest.

XXX-XXX

Sitting by his desk, Albus Dumbledore stared at the parchment on the desk in front of him, looking at the impossibility laid out there in green ink on yellow parchment:

Harry Potter

The Smallest Bedroom

Number Four Privet Drive

Surrey

It had to be a co-incidence, there was no way that it was their Harry Potter. It was hard not to allow any hope that, by some miracle, it was James and Lily's son on the Hogwarts acceptance list, but Dumbledore forced all hope in himself away.

There were several differences that Dumbledore had come across while looking into the history of the young 'Potter' boy. For one thing, though Harry's mother (who he'd seen in the window of Number Four) had a certain resemblance to Lily's sister Petunia, Dumbledore was sure that Petunia would have settled for a far better man than the one Mrs Potter had married. Built like a walrus that had eaten a hundred buffets, Mr Potter was as wide as he was tall, red faced and moustached. The boy's brother was a nasty piece of work, Dumbledore had seen the boy, who looked a lot like his father, and hitting 'Harry Potter' with a knobbly stick just as the curtains were pulled shut by their mother. Surely the ministry would have put James' son, the brother of the boy-who-lived and an enigma in his own right, with better people than the ones he'd observed.

The ministry, to the best of Albus' knowledge, did keep an eye on any squibs that they placed with families, and someone as important as Harry Potter would have been well monitored by the ministry until he turned seventeen. Surely, if he was Harry Potter, the ministry would have noted the injuries that the boy had received over the years – that Dumbledore only knew about because he'd cast a diagnostic spell on the boy when he'd noticed Albus in the streets and waved. Even if the boy wasn't the Harry Potter, Dumbledore would be getting Madame Pomfery to check him up the first time he needed to be in the Hospital Wing, to make sure that the injuries the diagnostic spell had given him was correct.

He sat for a moment contemplating the information he had at hand before a cough brought him from his mind "Yes," he responded, looking in the direction that the cough had come from. The voice belonged to his deputy headmistress.

"I'm here to talk about who you appointed as head boy."

"Ah yes," said Dumbledore nodding slightly, his tone of voice implying that the topic of conversation didn't surprise him in the least "I haven't sent the letter yet, I thought I'd give you one last chance to change my mind."

"Albus what else is there for me to say that I haven't already said? I think that you're making the worst decision that you've made in a long time, and that's saying something. Thanks to the drama of two years ago it's a wonder that anybody in seventh year is even allowed to lead the school in any capacity."

"And you think that Silas Wellington is the best person for the job?" Albus asked "He's a fine lad I know, but when a push comes to a shove do you really think that he'll hold his own against any Slytherin that comes his way? They hate him."

"The Gryffindor's are much the same as Cillian Franks but the other houses-"

"Don't think of him as a leader, they think of him as the peace keeper but not the leader," Albus glanced at McGonagall "They are indifferent to him at the very least and against him at the very most – the number of times that he's been in here for some comment or other…"

"We wouldn't be having this conversation if it were the other way around – if Mr Franks was the one with the character in dispute there would be no issue – you're siding with him for some reason." McGonagall finished the sentence as if it were a question.

"Possibly," said the headmaster, cryptically "But if there was a reason Minerva, I wouldn't be able to tell you about it just yet I'm afraid."

McGonagall nodded, beaten "Do what you will then Albus." She left the door slightly open after leaving it – Albus heard her retreating steps down the corridor and unwrapped a sherbet lemon that he'd put in his pocket earlier.

This year was going to be interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm a day late but this chapter is the longest yet (am I forgiven…thought not).
> 
> On other big news I've decided that instead of updating once a week, I really can only update once every two weeks – which means that I have two weeks to write things in advance (yayJ). This means that the next chapter you'll get will be in two weeks yesterday (I like the Tuesday updates – it adds some spice to my life).
> 
> I know this is another chapter that pretty much is about the OC (Cillian) but I needed to write some things from his POV, however both the Potters and Harry will be back in the next update. I have a new poll up about what house YOU think Harry should be in based on what you've read so far – feel free to take part.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, feel free to review, PM, favourite and/or follow. Thanks to everybody who's done any of these things – you brighten up my day and make writing fun (not that it isn't fun anyway…).
> 
> Have a good two weeks – have fun and stay safe (If you aren't having fun and want me to update early, contact me so that I know that people want me writing more).
> 
> Willstone


	6. Drunks and Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my fair readers
> 
> I'm back with another update, perhaps the shortest chapter yet (though don't hold me to that) we've reached 20,000 words! I'm actually really pleased with myself. The plotline shall be moving onward next time, though there were a few things in this chapter that shall clue you in on later events. And there was a fair plot point at the end there which sets things up for x, y and z later on (evil grin).
> 
> I would just like to say thank you for all the support people are giving me for this story and I will get around to answering all reviews from signed in members I was away most of last week so am catching up on things.
> 
> Thanks again, don't forget to read and review you make my day when I get the emails saying (someone has taken the time to write a review).
> 
> See you in 2 weeks,
> 
> Willstone

Hello my fair readers

I'm back with another update, perhaps the shortest chapter yet (though don't hold me to that) we've reached 20,000 words! I'm actually really pleased with myself. The plotline shall be moving onward next time, though there were a few things in this chapter that shall clue you in on later events. And there was a fair plot point at the end there which sets things up for x, y and z later on (evil grin).

I would just like to say thank you for all the support people are giving me for this story and I will get around to answering all reviews from signed in members I was away most of last week so am catching up on things.

Thanks again, don't forget to read and review you make my day when I get the emails saying (someone has taken the time to write a review).

See you in 2 weeks,

Willstone

"At least the party was good," said Regina as she came to lean against the wall by her friend "I've heard nothing but good things."

Helena supported the host of the party on her shoulder, she grimaced across him to the other girl "And ending up in St Mungo's?" She asked, her voice full of doubt. She'd known the red head since their first year at Hogwarts, but even then she wasn't sure how Hufflepuff could explain how ending up in St Mungo's could be seen as a good thing.

"That was unforeseen, but otherwise everything happened that was to be expected." Before responding to the other girl's comment Helena looked around at the other seventeen years olds who were clogging up the waiting room of the minor injuries ward – several seemed to have broken arms, there were quite a few back eyes in the mix, and a few looked to be on the verge of passing out.

"Expected?"

Regina shrugged, her fire red head tilting slightly to the right "He talked to other people and left the house," she gestured to the half-awake boy on Helena's shoulder who was at that moment looking at his own hands with an air of fascination and moving them in a pattern across his face "that was the broad idea of the party, and it worked."

Helena sighed, knowing that arguing with her friend would just result in several headaches before the end of the night. "The idea was," she said "to make him come back to the real world after staying away from it for so long."

"And what's a few broken bones to that?" asked the other witch "Hardly anyone's seriously ill and half of them will think it was the party of the year by this time Monday!"

"That's not the point." Said Helena, shaking her head.

The three of them sat in silence for a minute as a medi-witch entered the room and called out "Amery Saunders!" to the assembled teens. Biting back a groan, Helena watched as a pretty, chocolate skinned girl was helped through the doors of the waiting room, and into the ward. As the doors closed behind the group, noise returned to the room and Helena allowed herself to groan slightly as her shoulder started to go numb.

Silas spoke up from her shoulder, clearly thinking that what he was saying was very important to the conversation that she and Regina had just finished "I thought the main idea of the party was to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible?" It was at that moment that Helena asked herself why she'd even bothered to come with Silas to the hospital with Regina.

As she watched her Gryffindor friend laugh hysterically at something he'd thought but not said out loud, she wondered what had possessed her to let him plan his own seventeenth birthday party.

"Blooming Gryffindors," she heard Regina mutter under her breath, clearly not thinking that anyone could hear the comment, unfortunately due to the close proximity that they were in, Silas did hear and responded.

"That's what I am! A Gryffipuff, a Gryffilor, brave and streng- strong," he corrected himself "Strong-minded."

From the other side of the room, the Head Girl heard the sound of violent vomiting. She looked over at Regina "Were all the parents told that there'd be alcohol at the party do you know?"

Her friend thought for a moment and then said "Yes, I think so, I thought I saw him sending letters addressed to all of the parents a few days ago with something like that in them." Helena relaxed slightly, it was one less thing to have to clear up. She looked over to her inebriated friend and half smiled "Remind me not to suggest you for planning Daniel's eleventh birthday party – you'd get everyone drunk and then have to explain to Mr and Mrs Potter when they'd come around, that you're sorry that their house was destroyed overnight by a band of thieves!"

"And I'd get away with it to don't forget," her friend smiled across at her sleepily.

"Yes," Regina chipped in "as Cillian would say; that's the most important part!"

The mention of even one of their Slytherin friends bought the mood of the three seventeen years olds down further than they'd have liked "I miss them sometimes." Silas said, leaning further onto Helena "When I forget why I'm mad with them and think that everything that did happen was a dream, I look around and hope that they're all there once again. And then I remember why they aren't with us, and I want to cry."

Regina smiled tightly "Burris misses you all coming around – he keeps on sitting near the heater at night, almost as if he thinks it's one of you lot around for another sleepover. It makes him really dehydrated; that's the reason I was late to the party – I had to take him to my uncle – you know – the one who runs the vet surgery down on Darlington Road."

Helena nodded slightly, and then said "Thanks." As her friend finally picked up the other side of Silas' torso, making it easy once again for Helena to move her shoulder to get rid of the cramps that'd been going through them and get some feeling back into her arm.

"Whose Quidditch captain for Gryffindor this year Silas? Have they put you back on the team yet after that misunderstanding last year?" The beater shook his head sadly, somewhat sobering up on the subject.

"No, they thought that Oliver Wood was the better person for the job – he gets into less fights with the Slytherins than I ever did and some other rubbish that they thought mattered to the wider population of Hogwarts," he paused for a moment, taking in the sight of the other party goers, some of whom were starting a game of 'hide and seek' as if it were the best thing in the world "Remind me why we're here?" he asked.

"You hit your head when they got the brooms out inside the house," explained Helena "that added with the alcohol meant that we didn't want to risk anything happening to you overnight. I don't want another tattoo until I'm old and grey thank you very much."

She was referring to the tattoos that her, and a few of her fellow students had had done that told them whenever any of them passed away or was in trouble – it had been on the night that they'd first discovered firewhiskey so they couldn't quite remember the counter spell. They had thought that it would be fine as none of them were planning on dying anytime in the near future – so they'd left the spell on. However, the counter spell. They had thought that it would be fine as none of them were planning on dying anytime in the near future – so they'd left the spell on.

Silas grimaced and the three of them once again stood in a stony silence watching as one by one their friends and lesser known acquaintances were shown out of the waiting room and into the ward, the game of hide and seek was stopped around 3am by half of the group being led away at once to another ward that was less busy. This enabled the three friends to finally get seats but it wasn't until the first signs of dawn started to show themselves through the windows that "Silas Wellington!" was called out by the medi-witch.

The two girls picked themselves up and they went to the aid of their friend – helping him stand up and half carried him to follow the old witch as she guided them through the unfamiliar passageways that made up St Mungo's hospital. As they entered the main ward Helena took in the sight. The walls and the floor were both white, as were the beds, there was nothing about any of the beds that separated them from one another other than the occupants, who Helena recognised as the other's from the waiting room.

Silas was put onto the last available bed in the ward, as the two girls lowered him down onto the bed the healer of the ward came over to them, it wasn't until a familiar voice said "Oh Helena," that she realised who it was.

Mrs Potter had her hands on her hips in a motherly fashion, the expression on her face was not one of annoyance, but rather pity for the teenager "I thought you'd have a better time on your night off." She said by way of explanation.

"It wasn't the original plan Mrs Potter," Helena said to the floor, cheeks slightly pink from embarrassment at being caught not in the best of situations by her employer "It was meant to be a good night out with the others but then…" she trailed off and Mrs Potter nodded understandingly.

"Now Silas," she turned to the boy, who groaned and hid his head under the covers mockingly "Let's see what the damage is this time."

The check-up was completed quickly after that, and once it had been announced that Silas was to be staying the night for observation, Helena and Regina went to exit the ward and somehow get back to their houses before too long. Mrs Potter however, had other ideas "You can sleep in the staff beds for a wee while today." She said, stopping another witch who was passing by and whispering something in her ear "If you'll follow me, I'll show you where they are."

Both Helena and Regina went to protest at this turn of events but Mrs Potter put her foot down "I can't have you using the floo network or anything that needs concentration – you'll end up somewhere in New Zealand before you end up back where you're meant to be." She laughed a tired laugh and showed them out of the ward, they both muttered goodbyes to a semi-conscious Silas on their way out.

"We could always catch the night bus," said Regina politely.

"That awful thing? You'd be battered and bruised black and purple along the way. No, follow me." She sped up her pace and, after sharing a look of tired gratitude with each other, Regina and Helena followed slightly behind her. Helena soon lost track of the path that they'd taken through the hospital. She eventually grew so tired that it was only the thought of a bed that kept her going.

Eventually they came to a pair of large oak doors that had the words 'staff only' written on them in broad letters. Mrs Potter entered quickly and kept the doors open for the two girls as they followed her through the door. The room they entered was smaller than the large doors set her expectations up for – the room was quite plain. While there were portraits hung on the walls of the room, there was very little else in the way of decoration. Also on the walls of the room, labelled with things such as 'female lockers', 'kitchen' and 'living room' were doors with dark wood framing and shining, brass door handles.

Mrs Potter showed them in through a door marked 'female beds', the sight that greeted the two girls was a welcome one. There were about ten double beds lined up along the wall opposite the door. On the furthest two from the door there were pyjamas and towels set out welcomingly "I told Mary to get the beds set up for you two – fresh sheets and pyjamas. The shower" she said, gesturing "is through those doors at the end there. I'll come and get you at 2pm when my shift finishes." With a final smile and a nod in their direction, Mrs Potter left them to it.

There was silence in the room for a moment, then Helena made her way to the furthest bed from the door and picked up the pyjamas "I'll put these on in the shower room, you can get changed in here." Regina nodded sleepily. By the time Helena returned from getting changed, her friend was fast asleep in bed, snoring away lightly.

Helena turned out the lights in the room with a flick of her wand, only now questioning why she hadn't simply levitated Silas when she needed to carry him. Getting into bed, she suddenly realised that this was the first time she'd slept somewhere other than her own bed, without the others in the group being there.

The thought was fleeting, and soon faded from her mind as sleep swept over her like a wave crashing onto the sand.

XXXOOOXXX

Something stirred in the forest, a dark chill moved through the air as if it had a mind of its own. "No," thought Quirinus Quirrell as he tramped through the Albanian forest "There's nothing there as all, the most harmful thing in this forest are the fairies and their famous for being the kindest creatures in all the world!"

He smiled a small smile as he made his way deeper into the forest, and nearer (or so he thought) to the wonderful light show that the fairies were known for giving to passing strangers. Quirrell followed the path for another half an hour before he stopped for another rest.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood slightly on end as he staid still, almost as if something was watching him from somewhere that he couldn't see it "Just around the next bend," Quirrell muttered to himself "Lucius said it was about an hour in anyway."

But no matter how many corners he turned, no light appeared in the midnight darkness that had filled the forest in the time he's been in it. He lit his wand to help him see if there was anything that might help him reach his goal like a sign or something. But there was nothing.

A voice made him jump and drop him wand "Who are you?" it asked, more like a snake's voice would be than what a man's voice would sound like. "What are you doing in my forest?" It was unsettling how the voice seemed to be very close to him, but he couldn't see it.

Quirrell fumbled around for his wand with his feet, nudging the track by his feet in all directions to see if his wand was anywhere in particular. But to no avail.

The voice asked again, impatiently "Who are you?"

"M-m-my n-n-n-name's Q-q-q-Quirrell," stuttered Quirrell, his voice shaking "I-I-I was j-j-j-just w-wondering around."

The voice grew amused "Are you scared Quirrell, out here all alone with nobody to save you?"

Quirrell wasn't sure how to answer, however as he was about to tell the voice that he was very much afraid, his right foot made contact with his wand. He picked it up and cast another "Lumos!" to light up the tip. Brandishing it like a blind man would a stick, his searched around for the speaker.

He found that he was in a clearing with grass on either side of the track, he found that there were quite a few animal bones lying almost hidden in the grass, but try as he might, he couldn't see the person the voice belonged to. It came back, so close that Quirrell thought that the person must have been standing right by his ear to get his voice to be that loud "You won't find me that way Quirrell."

"W-w-w-who are you?" Quirrell asked "W-w-w-what are you?"

"That's none of your concern Quirrell, or it won't be for very much longer," the voice seemed delighted in saying this, Quirrell tensed his body. "Now answer me boy. Are you SCARED?" And with an almighty yelp, Quirrell fell to the floor and curled up in a ball.

"TERRIFIED, t-t-t-terrified sir."

"I asked for someone like you Quirrell," said the voice, getting closer to him yet again "Someone with a week mind that would be easy to corrupt. You are just perfect for what I have in mind. Quirrell meant to ask for what purpose he was perfect for. But the words got lost on the way to his mouth.

Instead he found himself asking "What do you want of me?" in a timid, resigned voice that he didn't know that the voice heard. The forest was silent for a moment, there was not the call of an owl, the whisper of leaves, the rustling of night creatures in the undergrowth. And then the voice said.

"Everything," Quirrell whimpered "I want your body, your soul, your life, Quirrell."

Something brushed against Quirrell's back but he was too scared to look to see what it was. Something else brushed against his right arm and another his left. He tried to move his legs but found that they'd been bound in the time he'd been sobbing into the floor.

"Now, Quirrell, say goodbye to your body," said the voice, calm and unemotional.

Quirrell was flipped over so he was lying prostrate on the ground on the pathway, a small stone sitting uncomfortably in the joint of his shoulder. He looked up at the sky, so far up above him, and wished that he could be anywhere but the place he found himself in at that moment.

And then he got the feeling of being lighter than air, weightless and unconfined. He found himself outside of his body, he was looking down at his own body. His body was moving without him in it. It was wiping the mud off its face, brushing off the dust from having lain on the pathway. It was walking away down the pathway.

Darkness followed in his stride, with a shadow black as night he walked through the forest. He had a new face, and would be going by a new name but that didn't matter.

A cold smile graced his lips as he went to find his faithful servants.

The Dark Lord had returned.


	7. Food for Thought

The Lost Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone – Chapter Seven  
Harry hadn’t meant to rip the curtain, he’d been trying to leave his room and the long, thick tail of the curtain had wrapped around his foot, a tight embrace. He’d tripped and gone sprawling on the floor. Wiggling his foot slightly he’d freed himself from the curtains restraint and untangled the trail – which had knotted itself into a tight ball. One untangled he’d realised that it was torn.

It had taken three days for Harry to figure out that the owner of the manor (a mysterious figure who hadn’t yet visited the room Harry had been placed in) had the ‘magic’ that the girl in his dream had talked about. The nurse who’d been looking after him during his stay at the manor had introduced herself as Matron Knowlton and had then proceeded to wave a wooden stick around Harry’s person, murmuring things under her breath that sounded like curses. She, Harry thought, was a witch for sure.

At the very least, the medication that she had made him drink were better at healing his wounds than anything that he’d had to drink before, in which case she would make a killing selling them to the masses. Following that train of thought, the stick she waved around him might have not been wood at all, but incense that helped with the healing process. It was a weak track that the train of thought went along, and even Harry would admit the chance that it was correct were one to one hundred. 

On his fifth day in the manor, Harry had discovered that the paintings in the manor, or at least the one in his room could move. He’d discovered this quite by accident – a midnight stroll to the bathroom had resulted in a twisted game of grandmas footsteps with the painting which was on the wall facing the door to the rest of the manor. 

This piece of knowledge, that he was in the house of a wizard, made Harry determined to look at the rest of the house and discover other wonders he was sure that the manor held. Of the owner of the manor Harry had composed a list of the things he knew:  
• If Krista was to be believed (and from what Harry had seen he had had no reason to doubt her), he was in the house of a ‘Cillian Franks’.  
• Mr Franks was undoubtable a wizard  
• He was also from an old family as hinted by the small family crests that were engraved on each corner of the bathroom door.  
• For whatever reason, Franks wanted him alive and well, at least for the moment.

The list that he’d made didn’t have anything on it that gave him cause for too much concern – why would his host waste good money on keeping him alive if only to kill him once he was better? 

On his seventh day of confinement – one week after he had woken up, Harry was about to jump out of the window from lack of human contact – sure Matron Knowlton came in to check on him three times a day, but other than that he was left to his own devices. The matron did however provide something for him to do by occasionally providing him with books to read (“Peter Pan”, “The Railway Children”, and “Treasure Island” where just three of the books she bought him in his first week). He’d liked reading the books at first, but once he’d read them all once (and Treasure Island twice), he found that by the end of that seventh day he’d been jumping off the walls (almost literally).

From somewhere in the manor, a clock struck midnight, the inhabitant of the picture he’d caught moving finally relaxed and shifted out of its frame grumbling, unaware of the silent watcher. Harry had taken his chance, getting out of the large bed and softly walking around it, he’d caught his foot in the curtain and fell to the ground cursing.

He hadn’t meant to rip it.

Creeping down the corridors in the manor, every shadow seemed to be Uncle Vernon coming to get him, something out of a nightmare or worse (to Harry’s mind) the mysterious Mr Franks. In the darkness of midnight, Harry moved around the house. 

The clock had just struck quarter to eleven when Harry came to a giant staircase that spiralled down and out of sight. Harry peered over the railing to the darkness of the space below. Looking back, Harry nodded to himself “Can’t go back now,” he said, and started off down the stairs holding tightly to the railing. He considered himself lucky that the pain medication was working, otherwise the midnight escapade would have fallen down at the hurdle.

The marble floor was cold on his bare feet, reaching the bottom of the staircase, Harry peered around, squinting through the darkness to see where his options lay. The front room was large, almost too large. Looking up, Harry was surprised to see a glint of something golden on the ceiling, he traced the light back to its source – a slight gap in the curtains over one of the many windows in the room. Going over to the window he pulled back the curtain fully and looked out over the silent grounds. The perfectly maintained lawn seemed spooky in the moonlight. Nothing moved. There was a temporary moment of silence.

“Rather beautiful isn’t it?” A voice came from behind Harry, making him jump and spin around sharply. As he turned he exhaled and tensed his body, waiting for the reprimand for leaving his room. 

The other person was cloaked in shadow, from where he stood, Harry could see that the stranger was much taller than he was, thin and gangly. Seeming to notice that he was being studied, the stranger stepped into the weak light provided by the open curtains. “Cillian Franks.” He said, moving closer to Harry, hand outstretched. Harry shook it briefly before quickly pulling away.

“Harry Potter,” the other boy, Cillian, was young. Harry thought that perhaps he was Mr Franks’ son or some other relation that stayed in the house sometimes “Are you his son?”

“Sorry?”

“Mr Franks, are you his son or something?”

“No,” the boy looked bashful for adding “I am Mr Franks.”

“The man who owns the house?” Harry said, not quite believing the claim, surely, if the boy was the owner of the house surely he’d be much older than he looked.

“I’m the Lord of the Manor, this manor,” the newly named Mr Franks ran his hand through his hair in a nervous gesture “It’s been in the family for centuries, it past to me when my grandfather died.”

“What about your father?” Harry asked, surely his father would have got the money and the property rather than Cillian – Uncle Vernon had been put in a foul mood when his father got all of the Dursleys grandfather had died and had got all of the money his grandfather had had.

“Don’t have one,” Cillian responded looking away, grabbing something out of the pocket of the dressing gown he was wearing, pointed it at the ceiling and muttered something that Harry couldn’t hear. Suddenly the candles the lined the perimeter of the room were lit and burning away merrily. Harry looked around the room, taking it all in. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noted that Cillian tucked the stick back into his pocket.

“Much better,” remarked Cillian, not at all awed by the magic that he’d just performed, he addressed Harry “Hot Chocolate? Or perhaps tea?”

Harry was silent for a second, then the pause became longer the becoming awkward in length “You can say what you want Harry.”

Nodding quickly Harry thought for a second “Um… Hot Chocolate?”

The other boy smiled “I was hoping you would say that, this way.” He let Harry off to the side of the room and through a door covered by a mirror. Harry walked close behind, staring slightly as the Manor Lord lit the way by holding the stick out in front of him, lighting up the passages in their various states of tidiness.

“These passageways go all through the house,” Cillian commented as they wound through a particularly winding section “People get lost here all the time there’s so many of them, I’ve put portraits before any of the really nasty places and threatened that if anyone fell off the map and were later found near them I’d white out the painting.”

“Has everyone died in here?” Asked Harry, getting the mental image of someone getting so lost that they couldn’t find any doors out of the tunnels and into the house.

“Oh yes, the manor has just about as much of an ugly history as the people in it,” the duo navigated their way around a pile of books which were piled in the middle of the corridor “My great-great-uncle decided that he’d try to map them one time – the theory is that he managed to find another entry to the Executioners Way.” Shrugging slightly the teen ignored the look Harry shot him.

“Do I even want to ask?”

“Long drop with a river at the bottom to dispose of the bodies.” They came to the end of the corridor, so signalled by a wooden archway beyond which the path split into four directions. “Servants quarters, House Elf living space, the kitchen and the way to the rest of the house.”

Cillian gestured to each of the passage ways in turn before leading Harry down the one he’d said led to the kitchen. A few meters down the passageway they reached the door, voices came from within. Cillian gestured to his lips to ask Harry for silence, Harry nodded and made himself scarce.

The door was opened and two very shocked faces greeted the wizards, a man and woman were sitting up on either side of the table. “Pontus, Iris, I thought you were meant to be in bed at this time in the morning?”

“I couldn’t sleep and I accidentally woke Iris up when I was passing the girls wing,” the one named Pontus quickly defended their actions “If I was mistaken to leave the wing this early in the morning I apologise sir.”

“Be that as it may, what’s your excuse Iris?”

“I thought it might have been someone breaking in,” the girl admitted “I came out here to check before waking everybody else up.”

Cillian nodded, Harry hid out of sight as the conversation continued. Eventually the girl let the two in the kitchen and brushed into him when she went down the corridor “Sorry,” she muttered before noticing who exactly it was she was apologising to “Oh, Mr Potter, you’re up, I might get some fresh sheets on that bed before heading back to bed then – they’ve not been changed all week!” She switched direction and started running, her pale yellow pyjamas disappearing around the corner that led to the rest of the house.

Taking that opportunity, Harry entered the room. Cillian and the man finished their discussion as he entered the room “Think about it, now Harry, should we get these hot chocolates going shouldn’t we?”

He pulled out the stick and waved it around his head in a lassoing gesture, suddenly previously inanimate objects came to life – a pot dived to collect milk spilt by a glass bowl which was being filled with chocolate that was breaking itself into pieces. Both Harry and Pontus stared, Cillian on the other hand looked mildly annoyed as a bottle of cream went flying over his head.

“Shall we sit?” He suggested to the two who were gaping as the stove turned itself on gesturing to a bench that ran down the length of the kitchen, they conceded and soon the three of them were sitting around a small bench table (shortened considerably by Cillian so one side of the table didn’t have two to the other sides one). “Now we’re all seated, Harry this is Pontus, he’s sort of a wizard.”

“Sort of a wizard?” Harry asked curiously.

“He’s a very confused individual,” Cillian and Pontus smirked at one another.

“Not nearly as confused as yourself sir.”

“I didn’t quite hear that,” Cillian said, he then changed the topic quickly, looking to Harry, his tone grew more serious “I imagine that you have some questions?”

“A few,” Harry admitted, there was a moment of silence before Harry realised something that wiped the smile off his face “How did the girl out there know my name?”

“I knew that someone called Harry Potter would be in the house sometime soon, no reason given at the time but there have been a few theories suggested,” the cups of hot chocolate arrived at the table, spoons still stirring the mixture.

“How did you know?” Harry asked, curiously – was there some magic that could see the future that the Manor Lord could see. 

“A friend told me,” was the only answer he got.

“A friend?”

“Yes, a friend I do have them you know.”

Harry looked at Pontus “Him?”

Pontus smirked while Cillian shook his head, a slight grin on his face “No, not him, I’m sure you’ll meet my friend sometime soon, he generally sticks his head out of the proverbial woodwork around this time of the year to get school supplies and the like.”

“Was you’re friend spying on me?” Harry said, suddenly suspicious “Did he kidnap me and bring me here?”

“You did that by yourself,” Cillian said, trying to take a gulp of hot chocolate but burning his tongue in the process “And no, he wasn’t spying on you in the conventional sense, he has a certain skill that allows him to see things that will happen. He doesn’t like to mention the specifics which sometimes can get to be very annoying for we who do not have his gift.”

“Oh,” said Harry, sinking into silence. He took the opportunity to study the Lord of the Manor, deciding to study Pontus at a later time. Cillian didn’t fit the part either of a Lord (Harry expected someone older and more regal) or the part off a wizards (weren’t wizards meant to be old or something?).

“You know about magic?” Cillian asked “You realise that you’re a wizard right?”

“Yeah, I know,” replied Harry, taking a sip from his cup.

“Who told you?” 

“A friend.”

“I often wonder Cillian,” Pontus said, as Cillian opened his mouth to no doubt ask who the friend was who had let the cat out of the proverbial bag “that everybody has one or two friends that naming may cause trouble for.”

Cillian nodded and instead asked “Do you know about Hogwarts?” 

“Didn’t your friend tell you anything about this conversation? If they did you’d already know about what I did and didn’t know.” Leaning in towards Harry across the table Cillian added quietly.

“But then if I didn’t ask these questions there might be something down the line that would change the pathway that we’re all set on, and would you really trust someone that knows everything about you, every little detail without you ever having met or talked to them before?”

“I suppose not,” Harry said “No I don’t know about ‘Hogwarts’, what is it?”

“It’s a giant castle in Scotland where most of the wizards and witches in the British Isles and Ireland are taught magic. You will be starting there in September.”

“But I can’t pay for anything! Surely I’d have to pay for some of the school supplies and the like in order to attend?”

“You do,” Cillian conceded, “But I can pay, school supplies for two people instead of one really isn’t going to break the bank of the Franks family.”

“I couldn’t take your hard earned money, it wouldn’t be fair and what if you need it?” 

“I couldn’t spend that amount of money in several lifetimes let alone the one that I’m living now. It’s not even hard earned money – most of it comes from the various illegal enterprises that the family ran throughout the centuries. It would be something new for it to be used for good for a change.”

“Do you know anything about my family? Other than my aunt and my uncle I mean, do you know who my parents are?” The question was abrupt, and Cillian looked for a moment like he’d swallowed a sour grape, Pontus was looking at Harry with pity in his eyes.

“No, I do not.” If Harry hadn’t looked down at the table at that exact second, he would have seen the shocked looked that Pontus shot Cillian and the warning look that was returned to him.

Cillian looked at Pontus “Could you perhaps get the necessary books from the library, anything on Hogwarts, wizard history up to the current day, the first year textbooks that I had (though some of them, Harry, aren’t on the school list this year) and I think one or two books on wizarding myths should do the trick.”

“Alright,” said Pontus standing up and picking up his hot chocolate “wouldn’t be sleeping anyway. Night.” He addressed the two wizards.

“Bye,” Harry said.

“See you around kid.” He left, and there was silence between the remaining two.

“What do you know about me?” asked Harry curiously, how much did the other boy know about what had happened at the Dursleys’ he wondered.

“Harry Potter,” Cillian said “he paused and had another, careful, sip of the hot chocolate “Eleven on the 31st of July, in about three days, half-blood, raised by muggles. I suspect,” Cillian added “That my friend knows more than he told me, but getting that much out of him was a challenge and used up most of my allotted patience for the day.” 

“You have questions, don’t you?” Cillian asked Harry after a moment’s pause in their conversation “If you ask them now, I’ll do my best to tell you the truth.”

Harry thought about this, wondering which of the hundreds of questions that were floating around his head. He looked at Cillian and asked “Are the sticks you’ve been waving around a wand?” I wasn’t the most pressing of questions but it was the first one out of his mouth.

Taking out the stick from the pocket he’d put it in, Cillian placed it on the table in-between the two of them “Yes, this is a magic wand Harry, nothing like the things people in the muggle world think of as ‘magic wands’ and way more dangerous than the muggle sort. I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said as Harry went to touch the wand, in explanation he said “certain wands don’t like being picked up by anyone but their masters. People who touch some wands that are like that end up with one less finger or arm.”

Harry pulled his hand away from the wand “What’s it made out of?”

“Each wand’s made of something different – mine’s made of Alder and Cypress with a core of Phoenix feather, thirteen and a half inches and it’s inflexible,” Cillian continued on “That friend of mine has a twelve inch, walnut and augurey tail feather wand, quite a sturdy wand to be honest,” Cillian smiled “Every wand is different, other friends of mine have different combinations.”

“How do you get them? I mean, do you ask for that type of wand and the shop owner gives it to you?” Harry didn’t know what type of wand he’d ask for, it sounded too complicated with too many variations.

“The wand chooses the wizard, at least that’s what everybody says. The best place to get a wand is Ollivanders’ on Diagon Ally.”

“Right.” Harry took a sip of his hot chocolate and yawned.

“Tired yet?” Cillian asked, letting out a yawn of his own. Harry nodded “I’ll show you back to your room then.”

Both boys drained their hot chocolates and stood up. Cillian waved his wand around the room and the cups started to clean themselves up “It’s probably best that the house elves don’t realise that we were down here this morning – I’ll tell you about house elves properly at a better time – they wouldn’t say anything but I bet you fifty pound I’d have to deal with a cold bed over the Christmas holidays if I came home.”

Leading Harry away from the kitchen, the teenager once again held out his wand in front of himself to light the way. Harry found himself emerging from different points in the corridor that never ceased to surprise him – one time they came out into a corridor from behind a painting and another time the two had been forced to get on their hands and knees to get through a door the seize of a radiator. It took them around five minutes to get back to Harry’s room and by that time Harry was well and truly worn out. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” Cillian said in as they parted “Though if there are any bed bugs tell me so I can use a spell I’ve been wanting to try.” 

Closing the door to his room, Harry quickly slid under the covers of his bed (which had been remade with new sheets in his absence). He settled down and, within seconds, was dead to the world.

\---- ((o)) ----

“Come on Daniel, wake up!” Leon was jumping on Daniel’s bed, overexcited at the prospect of presents being opened and candles being blown out.

“I thought birthdays were meant to be a time of relaxing?” Daniel mumbled, still hoping for an hours more sleep.

“Relaxing’s boring!” Leon started jumping on Daniel instead of his bed. 

“Fine,” Daniel grumbled, as the jumping failed to cease “fine!” He climbed out of his bed and stormed to his door only to be greeted by both his parents grinning like they were mischievous children.

“You set this up, didn’t you?” Daniel accused them over the top of his brother’s shoulder.

“The very idea!” His father grabbed at his chest in mock pain.

“Come on Daniel, the others are all waiting downstairs,” he tried to pull Daniel out of the door by his hand but their parents stopped the two of them in the doorway.

“Daniel needs to get dressed silly,” their mother explained as Leon pouted up at the two of them “You go down ahead of us and tell the others that the trip to Diagon Ally will be delayed another five minutes.” All remains of sleepiness were drained from Daniel’s face. Diagon Ally how could he have forgotten?

He vaguely registered his parents leaving him to get changed. Daniel’s dad couldn’t get leave for the day that they had been originally planning to go to Diagon Ally so the date had been changed instead to coincide with Daniel’s birthday. After grabbing some clothing randomly – ending up with a bright orange, Quidditch t-shirt that Ron had given him a while ago, jeans and a pair of mismatched socks – one green and one yellow – unwilling to change clothing and waste more time, Daniel could only grimace at the clothes as he left his room.

Entering the living room, he was greeted by the sight of his family and friends stood in a semi-circle around the fireplace on the left side of the room. His Aunt Alice stood on the far side of the semi-circle, and it was she who drew the attention of the rest of the room – Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley, Mrs Weasley, Jenny, Leon, Daisy, Helena, Uncle Damian, Daniel’s mother and his father – to his presence in the room. Ron and Neville ran over to Daniel and embraced him one after the other. “I thought that you were in Blackpool with your aunt?” Daniel addressed Ron.

“I managed to escape for the day,” Ron smiled.

Neville gave Daniel a sorry look “Dad sends his apologies to you, he couldn’t get any time off today – not with your dad having the day off too.”

Daniel was about to say that it didn’t matter when their conversation was halted by a commotion from the other side of the room “Why can’t I go?” Jenny was complaining “I’m only a year younger than Daniel. I don’t need a babysitter!”

“And I’m as tall as Neville,” Leon had joined in the yelling “I should be able to go too – and I don’t need someone here while you’re away!”

Uncle Damian chimed in “Don’t consider me a babysitter then – think of me as a house sitter and child sitter all rolled into one.” The Potter parents looked slightly embarrassed at their children’s antics.

“Are you sure that you can deal with all three of them Damian?” Daniel’s father commented, shooting the younger children a warning look. His uncle nodded and picked up the youngest Potter child, groaning under the weight of the seven year old. He looked her in the eyes, grin on his face.

“I think that this one’ll be my favourite today,” Daisy giggled while Leon and Jenny exchanged worried looks – their Uncle Damian had a system of slipping sweets to them throughout the day and the favourite got the most sweets of all. Uncle Damian slipped a look at his watch, changing the way he was holding Daisy “I thought you lot had a schedule to keep?”

The other adults in the room – and Helena – looked at their watches, and their faces morphed into looks of shock “Right,” Daniel’s mother commanded the attention of the room “Molly, Alice, you go first, then you James and then the three boys. Helena, you go before me and I’ll being up the rear.”

The other’s followed the instructions, by the time it came to Daniel’s turn to step into the swirling green flames of the floo network. His uncle – his father’s half-brother by Daniel’s Grandmother – had led the three youngest Potter’s out of the room with the promise of a walk in the park. His mother and Helena were in conversation, they broke off the conversation to give him encouraging smiles “Go on.” His mother told him.

Stepping into the flames Daniel yelled “The Leaky Cauldron!” 

There was swirling and spinning as he was in the floo system, looking into the rooms as they raced past his vision. Someone should really cover their fireplaces, Daniel thought to himself as he noticed people moving around the rooms behind the fireplaces. A minute passed of the swirling heat of the floo network before he saw Ron and the others waiting for him at the end of one of the fireplaces. He stepped forwards and fell onto the floor of the pub, dusty wood coming up to meet him as he tumbled. 

Perhaps five minutes later, the tense wait that Daniel felt at his first trip to Diagon Ally was over and his mother and father led the group towards the back of the pub. The people in the pub stared at him in curiosity, their whispers asking if he – Daniel – was actually the Daniel Potter, the boy-who-lived. His father took out his wand and tapped the brick wall of a room outside of the Leakey Cauldron. 

The passageway opened and the group stepped out onto the brightly coloured street of Diagon Ally.


	8. Chapter Eight

The Lost Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone – Chapter Eight

James Potter

“We need to get some muggle fireworks from elsewhere,” Lily said to James, at the back of their little group “Ever since the time you and Frank got hold of waterproof fireworks I’ve lost my fondness for the wizard type.” Chuckling at her own joke his wife moved away from him and up to the front of the group with her final comment “I’ll get them with after we get Daniel his wand.”

Daniel and the other boys were having fun gawping at the various brightly coloured shops that lined the cobbled street. They don’t have to fear the constant attacks from Death Eaters, James thought, remembering some of the more eventful times he’d had to go shopping after his first visit to the Ally when he was eleven. Another wizarding law introduced during the times of he-who-must-not-be-named – no child under the age of acceptance at Hogwarts is to be allowed entry to Diagon Ally.

The early morning shoppers of the Ally didn’t pay them much attention, too busy getting all their things before the onslaught of daytime shoppers. Even as they walked the short distance into ‘Flourish and Blots’ more people were arriving from the Leaky Cauldron, looking at the street with bleary eyes and coffee scented breath – a state of consciousness that James was all too familiar with.

Entering the bookstore, James wondered at the piles of books that swayed slightly as the door let in a breeze. They won’t fall, he rationalised, but there are some things that magic doesn’t make any easier to walk under. Noticing that Lily and the others had moved over to the far side of the store to talk to one of the shop assistants, James busied himself by looking around at the various other customers in the store. 

There were two middle-aged witches giggling at the latest book by Gilderoy Lockhart and a couple of older teenage boys – probably sixth or seventh years – arguing about which of the two books on the introduction to the wizarding world was better. Another family was talking to the other shop assistant – James recognised the mother as one of the better members of the department of magical games and sports. There was a lone boy, shuffling around the edges of the store, he had black hair and pale skin, and walked with a slight limp. Where’re his parents? James was about to go over to the boy to ask the question, when one of the two teenagers approached the boy and murmured something in his ear.

Logically, James thought, it could be the younger cousin of a mature Hogwarts student, he might be new to the wizarding world and his mother had asked his more knowledgeable cousin to show him around. There was something familiar about both the boy and his cousin – had they been to the ministry with one of their parents?

His contemplation of the two people and their strange companion – who looked on with a fond look – was bought to an end when Lily lightly touched his elbow “We’re leaving now,” she said “we have to get new robes for the boys.” He smiled at her and allowed himself to be pulled out of the store and handed three heavy bags full of books.

They entered the robe store and Madam Malkin rushed out to meet them “Three of you for Hogwarts?” She said, smiling at the group “We’ve another boy back here getting fitted up too.”  
“Three for Hogwarts, yes,” Lily struck up a conversation with Malkin about the proper sizes or robes for the boys. Mrs Weasley ushered into the back of the store – coming out of the back of the shop with a flushed face.

“It’s the young Malfoy boy,” she said as an explanation to Alice’s look of confusion. This is going to be interesting, James thought wearily.

“I’ll go back there,” he volunteered “He probably isn’t going to cause trouble when there’s someone else in the room who has a wand and can tread on him if necessary.”

“James really,” Lily exclaimed, but she let him into the back of the shop. Behind a curtain in the shop, the four boys stood on separate stools in front of mirrors. The Malfoy boy was on the stool furthest to the door. Neville was on the second stool from the end, and looked nervous about it, Daniel was between the shaking Longbottom and Ron Weasley. They didn’t look happy.

The Malfoy boy was saying something that ended with “Out of Hogwarts before you can even send a letter him to mummy.”

I want to knock some sense into the little arse, James thought but he suppressed the feeling and instead just put his hand on Daniel’s shoulder “How’s it going?” He asked quietly.

“This street’s awesome Dad,” Daniel said, excitement clear in his voice “Why on earth aren’t we allowed to come here before we get our Hogwarts letters?”

Ron chimed in with an agreement to the question “There’s nothing that could harm us here surely.”

I really shouldn’t tell them anything, James didn’t want to break the promise that he’d given to Lily when they first heard about the new law being implemented even after the fall of Voldemort at their house that night. But they have a right to know, said a little voice in the back of his head, they have every right to know now that they’re on the street and old enough to understand their history as members of the wizarding world.

The other two boys also looked interested at the idea of learning something that they had never been allowed to hear – Neville had turned his head slightly to hear better the conversation between the father and son duo, and Malfoy had gotten to be very still. Madam Malkin took that exact moment to enter the back section.

Thank Merlin, James thought, rubbing his forehead at the thought of what he had been about to tell the boys.

Madam Malkin measured up the boys for their uniforms with the help of several flying tape measures and silence ruled the store for a few minutes. James had been in Malkin’s robe store when one of the attacks happened all those years ago.

He’d needed robes to go to the Ministry Christmas function – dress robes were compulsory and …. Sirius (the traitor) had ruined his best dinner robes in an ill-fated attempt at a prank. It had been midday and freezing cold. There were lots of families out getting presents for one another for Christmas – last minute shoppers with their youngest children who they were too scared to leave on their own in the house or even to leave with a nanny. Some couldn’t afford a nanny. Either way, there were many young children and babies in the street.

The first sign of the attack had been when all the animals in the street – all the owls for sale, all the cats prowling the sidewalk – had gone silent. Then there had been an explosion – a loud, roaring explosion that pulled most people off of their feet.

Then the death eaters had arrived. They wore masks to cover their face, their wands were outstretched. 

Looking back James wondered if Sirius had ruined his robes on purpose – if he’d wanted James out of the way - so that he would die in the attack. Maybe Sirius had been one of the people in the masks, maybe he’d been on the street when everything turned to hell, and maybe he’d narrowly escaped from the aurors arresting him when they arrived. He would have faked the tears that James had seen when the other man had arrived to try and help in the finding of people who had gone missing in the blast.

Had Sirius laughed when he got home? Had he laughed at the massacre that had happened in the streets of Diagon Ally? Did he and Remus – because Remus would have had to be a traitor there was no doubt about that – invite other Death Eaters over to their home and kick off their shoes and have a good old laugh about the faces of all the children that had been killed on the street? All the squibs who had been unable to save themselves from the oncoming Death Eaters?

That was the reason that young children weren’t allowed into the streets of Diagon Ally. It was the reason for the squib law.

“Dad?” Daniel asked, snapping James out of his thoughts “We’re done here.” The others had filed out of the shop and were waiting in the middle of the street – patiently waiting for the two Potters to leave the shop. The Malfoy boy was still getting fitted.

Next on their visitation list was the apothecary, then it was to buy cauldrons, then to buy owls for the boys (Lily and James had promised to buy Ron an owl as a late birthday present). After a while of seemingly endless shopping, James was relieved when Lily at last announced that they would be getting the boys their wands next.

Molly and Alice both drew their sons away at that – Ron was getting his brother’s old wand and Neville had already gotten a new wand. Both mothers made their sons say goodbye to Daniel and promised to see the family later that evening at Daniel’s party.  
The two teenage boys from the bookstore were outside Ollivander’s with the black haired boy, they entered just before the family. “Do we know them?” Lily wondered out loud to James. 

James shrugged “I had the same thought when we were in Flourish and Blots but I can’t think of where I’ve seen them before.” The two boys smiled at them kindly as they entered the wand shop. The dark haired boy’s head was looking down at the floor.

“Hello,” one of them said to the Potters, Ollivander was nowhere in sight “Cillian Franks.” 

“Oh,” James said “The Cillian Franks, I knew I knew you from somewhere – you were at the meeting earlier this year weren’t you.”

Cillian Franks, he’d visited the house a few times when he was younger with Helena and the other members of Helena’s group, he hadn’t visited in years. While not the most talkative of her group, by all accounts he was one of the leaders of her little study group. I wonder who the other boy is, James thought, and then made the realisation just before the boy shook his hand.

“Aaron Smith,” they said at the same time.

“Yes,” said Smith “You recall?”

“You two came round to our house once, didn’t you?” asked Daniel, finally sick of not being involved in the conversations of the adults “You’re Helena’s friends?”

Franks nodded, “We were her friends, yes.”

“Why are you here?” asked Lily, but no answer was able to be given before Ollivander entered the room. He gave the gathered wizards an apprising look.

“It’s rare that I have this may wizards in one room, I would appreciate it if you didn’t all use the wands that I sold you against one another in here,” James’ hand had been creeping to his wand the entire time that he’d been talking to the two young wizards – his reasoning was simple, he didn’t trust a Franks as far as he could throw them. He was not at all surprised to see Franks hastily withdrawing his hand from his pocket also.

“I will deal with you first,” he said to the unknown boy, who continued to look at the floor.

How long does it take to find a muggleborn a wand? James asked himself, several minutes into that time, impatient to finish the shopping trip and to get away from the undoubtedly evil teenager that was standing in the same room as the saviour of the wizarding of the world.

Ten minutes later the other boy – Smith – left the room after quietly saying something to Franks. It’s getting rather hot in here, James admitted to himself as he watched the seventeen year old – he was the same age as Helena if James remembered correctly – left the shop then moved to lean against the window, wincing slightly as if in pain. Shifting his weight uneasily. Lily watched the back of the unknown boy, wincing every time that the boy made an explosion with the wands he wasn’t meant to wield.

It took half an hour to find the boy a wand.

It took James by surprise when the boy did, golden and red sparks exploding out of the end of the wand forming a fountain of fire like light. Lily gasped at the light, it was a beautiful sight. “Eleven Inches, Holly with a Phoenix feather.” Ollivander exclaimed, just as James tripped over his own feet in an attempt to untangle himself from the position he had held for the last half an hour. “A good show Mr Potter.” 

James blushed, the boy turned to Franks who smiled at him. Once again, James got the idea that he knew the boy from somewhere. Somewhere just out of the reach of his mind. As the boy left the shop, new wand in a package held in front of him, James realised who the boy reminded him of.

“That boy looks a lot like you when you were younger,” Lily said calmly as Ollivander started handing Daniel wands “From behind that is – I didn’t see his face.”

“He’s how I’d have thought Harry to look when he was older,” James said, he then thought about it for a second “Wait, you looked at the back of my head when we were that age?”

“I was looking at a target James,” Lily smirked at him “I didn’t want to miss when I had to throw things at you to make you shut up.”

“I love you too dear.” James said taking her hand. His mind off the matter of the mysterious boy as the wand in Daniel’s hand burst out into a similar show to the one they had just witnessed – red and gold sparks flying left right and centre in an impressive show of magic.

\-----o-----

Cillian Franks

“That was close,” Cillian said as he and Aaron made their way back to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry – distracted by his new owl – didn’t hear him. “Are you sure we’re doing the right thing? Keeping him from his family.”

“Okay,” Aaron said, voice raised slightly “It’s the only way that he’ll be safe.”

“How is keeping him away from his family keeping him safe?” Cillian looked over to Harry “I can’t do this Aaron, I think maybe they’re the best people for him. Do you think they’ll trust him when they know that I’ve spent time with him – the grandson of a prominent Pure Blood Family? I don’t!”

“Do you trust me in the matter of what’s going to happen in the future?”

“Yes,” Cillian said, “I’ve followed your instructions this far haven’t I?”

“You just answered a question with a question,” Aaron said, changing the subject. “But to answer, yes you have followed my instructions and if it makes you feel any better I can tell you that as soon as he gets on the Hogwarts Express at the begging of the school year, the input that you have into his life can be as little as one more time for him to be safe.”

They reached the Leaky Cauldron “Are you coming back to mine?” Asked Cillian “Or are you going to go back to being your normal silent self, and go back to the home?”

“I’ll drop all of my shopping at your house, in a day or so I’ve got permission to join you there for the next month,” Aaron smiled and then turned to Harry “Will you be alright then, Mr Potter, if I leave you alone with this bag of misery?”

Harry smiled slightly “He’s not that bad.”

“He’s not that bad,” Aaron repeated, and he nodded. “I suppose you’ll be fine. See you in a few days.”

He used the floo in the fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron. Cillian treated Harry to lunch in the Leaky Cauldron. While they were having lunch Harry flicked through some of the books that they’d bought at the beginning of the day. Cillian contented himself with playing with his food – he wasn’t hungry.

\--------------------oo----------------


End file.
